


you know i'm always at your shoulder (take your heart out of its holster)

by wafflesofdoom



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21979630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflesofdoom/pseuds/wafflesofdoom
Summary: “I must have been really good, in another universe, to deserve you,” Sander whispered, thumb brushing the line of Robbe’s cheekbone, the pad of his thumb soft against Robbe’s skin.Robbe simply kissed the inside of Sander’s wrist, shaking his head. “You are good in this universe, too,” he said. “You found me, when I needed you the most.”learning how to be in a real, actual relationship isn't the easiest thing in the world, and robbe is very new to it all, and he's got a lot to figure out when it comes to being in actual, everyday love with sander.  the first six months of a relationship are the best - and they're some of the hardest, too. these are the first six months of robbe and sander's relationship.
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 98
Kudos: 516





	1. december

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> december always feels exciting - full of festive cheer, and parties, and happiness. it hasn't been the easiest december of robbe's life, but at least he's ending it with sander as his boyfriend.

**december**

_“December, being the last month of the year, cannot help but make us think of what is to come.”_

The Christmas party was slowly winding down, Zoë and Milan huddled in a corner, having what looked like a serious conversation - about Senne, Robbe assumed - the rest of their friends having left slowly over the course of the evening, full of mulled wine and gifts tucked under their arms. 

It had been a nice evening, Robbe decided, as he gathered up the last of the glasses, holding them tightly as he headed for the kitchen, wanting to help with the clean-up as much as possible. He had a lot to be grateful to Milan, and Zoë for, and the least he could do is leave them with a clean(ish) flat to wake-up to. He wasn’t sure he could ever really repay them, for all they had done for him over the last few months, but Robbe was slowly realising that you didn’t always have to repay people for the kind things they did for you - it was enough to just be there for them, when they needed you.

Robbe felt Sander’s arms around his waist before he noticed his boyfriend was in the room, Sander’s hands warm, and heavy on his waist. “Hi,” he murmured softly, leaning back into the older boy’s embrace. 

“Hi,” Sander replied, voice low, his breath warm against the bare skin of Robbe’s neck. “Still tidying?”

“Mm,” Robbe confirmed. “I think I’m almost done.”

“Let me help,” Sander said, pressing a kiss to the underside of Robbe’s jaw before he untangled himself from Robbe, reaching for the closest towel. “You wash, I dry?” hey suggested, eyes a little brighter that evening than they had been in the previous few days.

Robbe was learning how best to support Sander, the same way he’d learned how best to support his mama, and slowly, it was becoming all too clear that Sander didn’t actually need all that much, from him - just a listening ear, and the reassurance that Robbe wasn’t going anywhere.

“Tonight was fun, right?” Robbe said, passing Sander the first washed glass. 

Sander nodded. “It was nice, to meet your friends - properly, I mean,” he said, careful hands drying the glass, setting it aside, taking the next from Robbe. “It feels - it feels like I’m getting to be a proper part of your life.”

“I want you to be - a proper part of my life, I mean,” Robbe said, conscious of his soapy hands as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of Sander’s mouth. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I know.” 

They worked quietly, for a few minutes, working their way through the last of the dirty glasses, Robbe watching as Sander dried the last of the washed glasses, wiping his damp hands on his trousers.

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to this - Sander in his kitchen, Sander there, a part of his life, as much as school was, as much as anything else familiar in his life was. It - it didn’t feel like it was real, however silly that was. Sander was an unattainable mystery, to Robbe, even before Sander was a real person and not a figment of Robbe’s imagination, the thing he would only let himself dream of in the darkest hours of the night.

“You look serious,” Sander commented, pressing a thumb to the furrow of Robbe’s brow.

“I’m just thinking,” Robbe said, circling his arms around Sander’s waist, tilting his head so he was looking up at Sander, admiring the way his bright blonde hair fell over his forehead.

“About?”

“You,” Robbe admitted. “I feel so lucky, to have you here.”

“Even when I refuse to get out of your bed?” Sander raised an eyebrow.

Robbe grinned, waggling his eyebrows at Sander, enjoying the way it made his boyfriend laugh. “Especially when you refuse to get out of my bed,” he teased. “No, I just - I feel like I’ve wanted you, for so long, and now I get to have you, and it feels good. You make me feel good.”

Sander didn’t say anything for a second, lips hovering near Robbe’s, close enough to kiss, but he wasn’t giving Robbe what he wanted, there and then. “You make me feel good, too,” he said simply, the words heavy with all the things he wasn’t quite ready to say.

Robbe understood.

Mostly, at least.

“Let’s go to bed,” Robbe suggested, rocking on his heels. 

“You tired?”

“Mm,” Robbe nodded. “I’m more hoping you’ll keep your promise about not keeping your clothes on tonight,” he said, slowly feeling more comfortable in his sexuality, feeling comfortable in embracing wanting Sander. It had been terrifying, at first, to want someone the way he wanted Sander, but it had always felt good. It was just that the feeling good far, far outweighed the terror, now. 

Sander smirked, hands sneaking under the material of Robbe’s jumper, hands warm against the skin of Robbe’s lower back. “And why would you want me to keep that promise?” he teased.

Robbe couldn’t help but roll his eyes in response. Sander was always such a tease. “I’m sure I could get Milan to explain the mechanics of it all to you,” he replied, quirking an eyebrow.

“Mm, I think I know,” Sander said. “Or have I not proved that enough already?” 

“I don’t think you have, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really,” Robbe confirmed, Sander’s hands slowly, but surely, making their way up Robbe’s back, fingertips pressing against Robbe’s shoulder-blades, sending shivers down Robbe’s spine. He would have hated how easily Sander could push his buttons if it didn’t feel so good. 

“Come on,” Robbe urged. “Sander, come on - bed.”

Sander was still smirked, nipping at the sensitive skin of Robbe’s jaw, teeth grazing against his skin and making Robbe melt into Sander’s arms, Robbe unable to do anything except cling to his boyfriend, fingers knotted in the soft material of Sander’s t-shirt. 

“Not until you tell me what you want,” Sander breathed against his ear.

“You, Sander,” Robbe pulled him closer, probably a little too forcefully, but Robbe would do just about anything to get his lips on his boyfriends, there and then, kissing him with the sort of desperate wanting Robbe still wasn't familiar with coming from himself. “Always you.”

That was enough for Sander, his boyfriend pressing a rough kiss to his lips before he untangled himself from Robbe, grabbing him by the hand and tugging him down the hallway. 

“Goodnight, boys.”

Milan’s teasing voice stopped them in their tracks, Sander sticking his head around the doorway, Robbe tucked under his arm as they paused to say goodnight. 

“Goodnight,” Robbe said, softly. Zoë looked upset, he noted, curled up close to Milan. 

“Thanks for cleaning up,” Zoë said softly. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s okay,” Robbe shrugged, giving her a smile. Sander’s fingers were trailing patterns down his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but notice Milan’s soft smile. Milan had been the most invaluable friend, and Robbe was equal parts embarrassed and endeared by the older man’s pride in Robbe, these days.

“Will there be croissants in the morning, this time?” Milan teased. 

Sander laughed, that gorgeous sound that made Robbe melt from the inside out. “Not in the morning,” he said, apologetic. “We’re going to have breakfast with my mama,” he said.

Milan waggled his eyebrows. “Meeting the parents? How very grown up of you both!” he joked.

Robbe swallowed down the flash of nerves that surged in his throat at Milan’s words. “Very,” he said, voice soft. “Goodnight,” he said, tugging at Sander’s sleeve and urging his boyfriend on.

He liked his roommates - a lot, actually - but he really, really just wanted to be alone with his boyfriend. 

He felt like that was fair.

Sander wrapped an arm tightly around Robbe’s shoulders, guiding them both toward the bathroom, Robbe’s toothbrush next to a cheap plastic one Senne had bought for Sander in Delhaize, the older boy having gone out and bought all the things Sander needed that Robbe had forgotten about.

(Robbe made a mental note to text Senne, soon, and see how he was.)

“You have gross mulled wine breath,” Sander said, nudging Robbe, reaching for the toothpaste. 

Robbe couldn’t argue, really. He could feel the stick of sugar behind his teeth, red wine staining the inside of his mouth - and he really did not want to let that set in overnight. 

Holding out his toothbrush, he murmured a thank you as Sander squeezed out some toothpaste. From the middle of the tube, so Zoë wouldn’t be happy. 

Going through the motions of getting ready for bed with someone else was something Robbe still wasn’t quite used to. In those frantic, strange first weeks of their relationship, Sander had flitted in and out of his life at the oddest of hours, and it hadn’t allowed for the sort of domesticity that comes with brushing your teeth, and washing your face with your boyfriend, Sander all elbows as they battled for space at the tiny sink.

“You’ll get old, if you don’t moisturise,” Sander joked, poking at Robbe’s cheeks with a finger covered in the weird gel he slathered his face in every night.

“Eh,” Robbe shrugged. “You’ll always be older,” he teased, ducking the half-hearted swat Sander aimed in his direction at the joke. 

“And wiser,” Sander said, pulling Robbe closer by the chin, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. 

“We’ll see about that,” Robbe murmured, tilting his head sideways. “You mentioned something about not wearing any clothes tonight, and it’s very boring to be kept waiting, you know.”

“You’re getting very demanding,” Sander said, and before Robbe could protest too much, Sander had grabbed him by the waist, lifting him over his shoulder. 

“Sander! Sander, put me down - now!” Robbe whisper-yelled, slapping Sander’s back. “Sander, don’t be an idiot, put me down!”

Sander didn’t say a word, nudging Robbe’s door closed with his hip, tossing Robbe unceremoniously onto his bed, knocking the wind out of Robbe’s lungs. It was cheesy, but in so many ways, Sander just took Robbe’s breath away, and especially when he was hovering over Robbe like this, one knee resting on Robbe’s bed.

Robbe propped himself up on his elbows, watching Sander as he reached for the end of t-shirt, pulling both off in one easy movement. His breath hitched in his throat as he took in the expanse of Sander’s chest, the skin tan, and warm, and familiar. 

“Is this good enough for you?” Sander winked, hands deftly unbuckling his belt, pushing his jeans down over his hips, ridiculous shoes long since taken off, kicked aside by the front door. 

Robbe couldn’t help but grin. “Almost,” he replied, watching as the corner of Sander’s mouth quirked into a smile, fingers hooking into the corner of his underwear, pulling them off and tossing them aside.

“Now?” Sander challenged, hands on his hips. 

Robbe let out an appreciative sigh. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s good enough.”

Robbe was not a dramatic person. Really, he wasn’t. Everyone who knew him, knew him as a chilled out kind of guy - he rarely got too worked up over anything. But now, sitting on the bus to Sander’s house, he was pretty certain he was about to die. Like, actually collapse in the middle of a De Lijn bus, and just die.

“Robbe.”

Robbe tore his gaze away from the window to look at Sander. “Hm?” 

“I can feel you freaking out,” Sander said, reaching for Robbe’s hand, and intertwining their fingers tightly. 

“How can I not be freaking out?” Robbe said in a rush. “I’m about to meet your mother! What does she even know about me? Does she think I’m - I’m some sort of terrible person who broke up your relationship, or -“

“Robbe,” Sander interrupted gently, leaning in to press a kiss to Robbe’s cheek. “She’s going to love you.”  
“How do you know that?”

“Because I love you,” Sander reassured. “And you love me, so she doesn't have any reason to not to like you.”

“But-“

“No buts,” Sander shook his head. “She’s going to adore you, Robbe. How could anyone not?”

Robbe gave his boyfriends hand a grateful squeeze. “And you’re sure that roses are her favourite flower?” he asked, looking down at the flowers in his lap. They looked a bit sad, if you asked him, but Robbe was running a little low on money, and he wasn’t ready to brace a phonecall with his dad, just yet, knowing his father would want to rearrange their dinner.

“Robbe,” Sander’s sigh was almost an exasperated one. “She’ll appreciate the flowers, I promise - she’ll probably be annoyed you felt you had to bring her something.”

“It’s only polite,” Robbe mumbled. 

Sander leaned in again, pressing another kiss to Robbe’s cheek. “Come on,” he pulled at his hand. “We’re the next stop.”

Robbe looked out the window, feeling his stomach lurch. “You live here?” 

Sander simply nodded, tugging Robbe up out of his seat and toward the exit, calling a thank you at the bus driver before they stepped off the bus and onto the street, cold air whipping up around them. 

It was only a few days to Christmas, now, and the weather had changed to finally suit the time of year - brisk and cold and a faint threat of snow in the air, Robbe’s cheeks icy cold as they walked down the street.

“I can’t believe you live in Zurenborg,” Robbe shook his head, clutching tightly to the flowers in his hand. “Sander, you live in Zurenborg! How have you never told me this?”

Sander shrugged. “It’s never come up,” he said, come to a stop outside a beautiful house, flowers decorating the windowsills. “Here we are.”

“Sander.”

“Robbe,” Sander mocked. “Chill.”

Robbe rocked on his heels, shaking his head. “I just want her to like me,” he admitted, anxiety blooming in his chest, old familiar feelings of nervousness and anxiousness and not feeling quite good enough pumping through his veins. 

“She will,” Sander said, wrapping his arms around Robbe’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Robbe, she will.”

Robbe couldn’t help but feel silly, needing this much reassurance from Sander. 

“We’re very alike,” Sander joked, a soft smile on his face. “So, of course she’ll like you. Come, come on.”

Robbe was still quiet.

“In this minute,” Sander brushed his lips against Robbe’s softly. “We’ll go and meet my mum.”

“And in the next?”

“Minute by minute,” Sander reminded, linking his fingers with Robbe’s and tugging him up the steps to the front door, rooting in his pocket for his front door keys, letting them into the house.

It felt like a million miles from his own home, the hallway bright white and all high ceilings and mirrors, art framed on the walls that Robbe recognised as Sander’s, his name scrawled on the bottom with Sander’s familiar flourish.

“Mama? I’m home!” Sander called, letting go of Robbe’s hand so he could untie his ridiculous shoes, Robbe following his lead and toeing off his sneakers, the tile of the hallway cool underneath his feet. 

“Come to the kitchen!” an unfamiliar voice replied, Sander tugging Robbe through the house. “I’ve made lunch.”

Robbe’s stomach was in knots as Sander led him through the house, through a huge living room with the most insanely big Christmas tree Robbe had ever seen in his life in the corner, glittering in gold and silver baubles. 

“Mama, this is Robbe,” Sander introduced, pushing Robbe in front of him like the ridiculously proud boyfriend he was, Sander’s mama standing in front of him - not for the first time, Robbe realised, recognising her from the night of Sander’s episode.

She had shockingly dark hair, compared to Sander’s bleach-blond, but their eyes were almost the same, Robbe realised - warm, and bright, the same as Sander’s. 

“Robbe,” she said warmly. “It’s so good to finally meet you. Sander’s told me so much about you.”

Robbe let out an awkward laugh. “Good things, I hope.”

“Wonderful things,” she beamed, enveloping Robbe in a very unexpected hug. “All wonderful, wonderful things.”

Robbe hugged her back, hesitant hands reaching around Sander’s mothers back. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs Driesen.”

“Katrijn, please - call me Katrijn,” she said, brushing Robbe’s hair out of his face in a gesture so motherly it almost made Robbe want to cry. “Are you hungry? I think I’ve made enough food to feed all of Antwerp.”

Sander gave Robbe’s shoulders a squeeze, the two of them moving to sit at the kitchen table, the surface covered in food. 

“So, Robbe,” Katrijn said, filling Robbe’s glass with water. “Tell me all about yourself!”

Robbe couldn’t help but let out another awkward laugh, nervous hands rubbing across his trousers. “I - uh, I’m not all that interesting,” he shook his head. 

Sander rolled his eyes. “He’s being humble, mama,” he said. “Robbe is the most interesting person I’ve ever met!”

“She loves you.”

Robbe looked up to see Sander behind him, familiar hands running across his shoulders. “You think?” 

Sander nodded, pressing a kiss to Robbe’s shoulder. “I think she’ll even let you stay over, if I asked,” he grinned. “Seeing as we’ll lose the privacy of your flat-share, soon.”

Robbe’s heart ached as he realised he only had a couple of days left at Casa Milan and Zoë. He was excited to move back home, to his old bedroom, back with his mother, of course, but he’d gotten used to living with Milan and Zoë, and so much had happened, in that flat - so many good things with Sander had happened there.

He’d miss it.

“We’ll be fine, you know?” Sander nudged. “It’s just a new chapter.”

“You think?”

Sander nodded. “I know,” he confirmed. “You like the tree?”

Robbe glanced back over to the spectacular Christmas tree, nodding. “It’s beautiful,” he said, admiring the way the setting sun was making the gold baubles glitter, the sounds of Katrijn washing up the dishes from their lunch the background noise of an altogether quiet house.

“You like Christmas,” it was more of a statement, than a question.

Robbe nodded. “My mama loves it,” he said. “She always tried her best to be good, around Christmas. It wasn’t - it wasn’t always possible, but Christmas always cheered her up.”

“It’s a nice time of year,” Sander hummed.

“I’ve just realised that we don’t have a Christmas tree, though,” Robbe said, thoughtful. “Do you think I could still buy one, somewhere?”  
Sander nodded. “I’m sure we can find one,” he said. “Do you want the grand tour, then?”

Robbe nodded, curious to see more of the Driesen household. Letting Sander take his hand, Robbe stumbled up the stairs after Sander, listening as his boyfriend talked him through the various rooms of the seemingly never-ending house.

“My room is in the attic,” Sander explained, leading Robbe up a final set of stairs to what Robbe wasn’t sure he would actually ever call an attic, the space bright, and airy, a bathroom on one side, an open door to what Robbe assumed was Sander’s bedroom on the other side.

“It’s a bit messy,” Sander admitted, pushing open the door, revealing a room that was so completely Sander, it almost made Robbe laugh. One corner of the room looked to be a studio, of sorts, an easel balanced under the window, a desk laden down with half-finished drawings and sketches, an array of people and landscapes - and a few of Robbe himself - completed and tacked above the desk. 

“It’s very you,” Robbe countered, glancing around. His wardrobe doors were wide open, stuffed to the brim with sweaters and t-shirts in varying shades of grey, and Bowie. 

“I try,” Sander grinned, nudging Robbe closer to the bed. 

“Sander!” Robbe hissed, clinging to Sander so he didn’t fall backwards onto the all-too-inviting bed. “Your mother is downstairs!”  
“Yeah, three floors away!” 

“Absolutely not.”

“Robbe,” Sander pleaded, trying out his big, wide puppy dog eyes. 

“Sander,” Robbe mocked. “We’re not doing this with your mother downstairs making us coffee.”

“Boring,” Sander poked his tongue out, pressing a kiss to Robbe’s cheek. 

“We should get back,” Robbe glanced toward the door, conscious of making a good first impression on Sander’s mother.

“Go on,” Sander said, kissing Robbe softly. “I need to do one thing.”

Robbe nodded, letting his fingers linger on Sander’s wrist for a second before he headed for the stairs, padding down the tiled stairs, running his fingers along the polished bannister.

He’d never really thought too much about Sander’s family, his home life - he supposed he’d never had the mental space to give it too much thought, before now - but this hadn’t exactly been what he’d assumed Sander’s life might be.

They were still learning about each other, Robbe supposed.

“Do you take milk, in your coffee, Robbe?” Katrijn asked, setting three mugs down on the table.

Robbe nodded. “And sugar,” he admitted. “It drives Sander crazy.”

Katrijn laughed, stirring a spoon of sugar into her own coffee. “He decided when he was fifteen, he was going to become a coffee snob,” she reminisced. “He learned as much as he could about coffee, and how its roasted and brewed, and then he told me we had to buy a cafetiere and throw the horrible coffee we did have out.”

“He takes it very seriously,” Robbe agreed, hugging his mug close to his chest.

Katrijn was quiet for a second, reaching across the table for Robbe’s hand. “I wanted to say thank you, Robbe,” she said. “Sander - he can be so low, after he has a manic episode, but you’ve helped him so much over this last week.”

“It’s nothing,” Robbe shook his head. 

“No, it’s really quite something,” Katrijn said. “Britt, she - I didn’t think she ever gave him the right sort of support, but you came along, and the way Sander talks about you Robbe. You’re everything he needs.”

Robbe wasn’t sure if he felt wildly uncomfortable, having a conversation like this with Sander’s mother, or if he felt reassured - there were few people who really knew, or understood his and Sander’s relationship, and it was sort of nice to hear it from someone else, that they were a good match.

“He’s everything I need too,” Robbe admitted, voice soft. 

Katrijn smiled. “Good,” she said, giving Robbe’s hand a tight squeeze. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

“Are you telling Robbe all my embarrassing childhood stories?” Sander’s voice broke the contented silence Katrijn and Robbe were sitting in, slipping into the seat beside Robbe.

“Oh, no, schatje, I haven’t even started on the embarrassing stories yet,” Katrijn grinned. “Robbe, I hope you’re in no rush to go home, because this boy here has a lifetime of embarrassing stories to tell you.”

Robbe grinned. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”

It was late, when Robbe eventually got home, having spent most of the day with Sander and his mother, lunch turning to dinner before they knew it, Sander and Katrijn laughing at Robbe’s complete ineptitude in the kitchen as they prepared Thai food for the three of them and Sander’s sister, who arrived from university that evening, not so much as blinking an eye as she realised Britt was no longer part of Sander’s life, and he in fact had a boyfriend, now.

“Long day?” Milan asked with a smile, lounging on the couch, book in hand. They’d done gifts between the flatmates, another Secret Santa, and Robbe had gotten Milan, buying him a book the woman who’d served him in the bookstore had claimed was the must-read LGBT novel of the year. 

Robbe was trying.

Giving a tired nod, Robbe curled up on the couch next to Milan. “I spent the day with Sander and his mother,” he explained. “It was nice. I - it was nice to get to know her and Sander’s family more.”

“It makes it all feel more real, right?” Milan said knowingly, folding the corner of the page he was reading carefully. “Being in a relationship, I mean.”

Robbe nodded. “It’s weird, now,” he said. “I wanted Sander for so long, I never really thought about what life might be like when we worked through all our - uh, well, our problems, I guess.”

“Stability is underrated,” Milan laughed. “Are you looking forward to being home for Christmas?” 

Robbe nodded. “It’ll be nice, to have my mama home again,” he said. “But I’ll miss living with you and Zoë.”

Milan smiled softly at him. “The perk of living here - even just for a little while - is that it will always be your home, Robbe,” he said. “Whenever you need some space, or just want to chill, you know you’re welcome here.”

“Thanks, Milan,” Robbe said. “Not just for that, but for everything. I’m not sure I’d have been able to get through all this, if it wasn’t for you. Thank you.”

“I was just glad to help, Robbe,” Milan said. “I wish I’d had a friend like me when I was your age.”

“I’m really lucky I do,” Robbe grinned, half-heartedly wriggling out of Milan’s grasp as the older boy pulled him in for a hug. 

“I’m a wonderful guru, I know,” Milan sighed happily, keeping Robbe in a headlock. “Zoë! We’re having a flat-mate group hug, hurry - I have Robbe pinned down!”

Zoë poked her head around the living room door, laughing as she took in the scene in front of her. “Well, it would be rude not to join,” she joked, landing unceremoniously on top of Robbe as she jumped onto the couch, wrapping her arms around Robbe. “We’ll miss you, Robbe.”

Sandwiched between Milan and Zoë, Robbe couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll miss you too.”

“ _Are you ready?_ ”

“I would be if you would tell me what I’m getting ready for,” Robbe replied, phone tucked under his ear as he knotted the laces of his sneakers, patting his pockets to make sure he had his keys before he yelled a goodbye to whoever was hanging around the flat.

“ _It’s a surprise, Robbe, the point is you don’t know_.”

“I don’t like surprises,” Robbe said, stepping into the rickety old lift in their apartment building, waiting for it to make its slow descent to the ground floor where his boyfriend was waiting.

“ _You’ll like this one_ ,” Sander reassured. 

“How are you so sure?” Robbe asked, pushing open the front door, Sander hanging up as he realised Robbe was next to him, now.

“Because,” Sander replied simply, pressing a long, slow kiss to Robbe’s lips, the kind of kiss Robbe always felt right to his toes, his whole body melting into Sander’s grasp as they kissed.

“That’s not an answer.”

“That kiss was supposed to stop you talking, Robbe,” Sander teased, pulling him out onto the footpath, the two of them walking, shoulder to shoulder, vaguely in the direction of the city centre.

Robbe smirked. “You didn’t kiss me hard enough, then.”

(And if Sander crowded Robbe into a sort-of secluded doorway to kiss him absolutely breathless as the hustle and bustle of daily life in Antwerp unfolded around them, well - that was no one’s business except Robbe’s.)

  
“Your surprise is the Christmas market?” Robbe raised an eyebrow as Sander pulled him closer to the entrance of the Christmas market, Groenplaats lit up in bright, sparkling lights, the square packed with families and couples alike soaking up the atmosphere.

“Yes,” Sander said, tugging Robbe close. “I thought we could start a tradition of our own - ice-skating, and mulled wine, and all the Christmas cheesiness you could want.”

Robbe was getting concerned at how often it felt like his heart was melting out of his chest when it came to Sander, and all the silly little things his boyfriend did for him, and remembered.

He’d never had traditions, growing up. Traditions meant you knew you could do the same thing every year, and that had never been a guarantee with Robbe’s mama, long before she was even diagnosed. Traditions - they were something so abstract, so long-term, he’d never really imagined them being a part of his life.

“Sander, I - I don’t know what to say.”

“You’ve done so much for me this past week, Robbe,” Sander said. “The least I can do is buy you a mulled wine and take you ice-skating.”

“I - I’ve never been ice-skating, before,” Robbe admitted.

Sander looked at him with an expression that was all empathetic, and Robbe sort of hated it, trying to wriggle out of Sander’s arms. “There’s a first time for everything,” he said, taking a firm grip of Robbe’s wrist and leading him toward the ticket booth for the ice-skating rink.

Sander had given Robbe a lot of firsts, Robbe noted as the older boy directed him, explaining how best to tie the clunky ice-skates they’d rented - some of them the kind of firsts he absolutely shouldn’t be thinking about in a public place, a blush rising in his cheeks as he blinked away memories of hotel room beds and showers and hands just everywhere, letting Sander pull him onto the ice.

This was a different sort of first - but still good.

And it turns out, Robbe really wasn’t so bad at ice-skating, needing a few slow loops of the rink before he got the hang of it, out-skating Sander very quickly.

“Keep up, old man,” Robbe grinned as Sander stumbled, Robbe confident enough to skate backwards, Sander a little more unstable on his skates.

“This was supposed to be a nice romantic date, you know,” Sander said, making grabby hands at Robbe. “Not a competition.”

“But now I know I’m better at ice-skating than you, it’s definitely a competition,” Robbe said, relenting and taking Sander by the hand, tugging him around the rink, cheesy Christmas songs blasting over the tinny speakers hooked up around the ice-rink, the Antwerp Cathedral a domineering figure about the various stalls and Christmas-themed food that was on sale.

“ _All I want for Christmas is youuuuu_ ,” Sander crooned, stumbling slightly as he hooked his arms around Robbe’s waist, causing the two of them to collide with the barrier at the side of the rink.

Robbe laughed, wrapping his arms around Sander’s shoulders, his boyfriends face flushed from the exertion of ice-skating, cheeks red and eyes bright - brighter than they had been all week.

“You have me,” Robbe reassured, bumping their noses together.

“Always?” 

“Always,” Robbe confirmed. 

“And we’ll come ice-skating every Christmas?”

“Until we’re old, and grey, and our knees don’t work anymore,” Robbe nodded, Sander’s breath hot against his cheek. “And even then, I promise, I’ll push you around the rink in your wheelchair.”

“Who says I’ll be the one in a wheelchair?” Sander feigned offence, poking Robbe’s sides, making him squirm.

“The universe!” Robbe declared dramatically. “Because you’re older, remember?”

“Older and wiser,” Sander hummed. “And your older, wiser, absolutely gorgeous boyfriend feels like now is the perfect time to go and get some mulled wine and take some very cheesy selfies and remind all our friends how in love we are.”

Robbe laughed, the kind of laugh he hadn’t realised was missing from his daily life until he met Sander, swallowing his newly-held apprehensions as he pressed a soft kiss to Sander’s lips.

“Oh, we’re in love?”  
“Completely and utterly,” Sander confirmed. “And if we don’t remind everyone on instagram at least once a day, I’m worried they might forget, and I might have to do something drastic.”

“Like what?”

“Like, shout very loudly to all of Antwerp that this gorgeous, handsome -“

“Okay, okay,” Robbe covered Sander’s mouth with one cold hand, shaking his head good-naturedly. “Mulled wine and selfies it is.”

Robbe felt sick with nerves, as he waited outside of the hospital for his mother. He knew - he knew he shouldn’t be nervous, not really, but his mama hadn’t replied to his text about Sander, and it had been a few days, and he was worried.

What if she didn’t approve?

He had never had the impression his mother was homophobic, but then again - people could surprise you, he supposed.

Breathe, Robbe.

Sander had bought him breakfast that morning and had sent him off to collect his mama with some reassuring words and a kiss, and a reminder he probably shouldn’t have a panic attack in the reception of the hospital his mother had just spent the last four months in.

“Robbe.”

Robbe looked up to see his mother standing in front of him, suitcase in hand. “Mama,” he breathed the words like a prayer, glad to finally see her out of her hospital room, her favourite dress on.

He was grateful, to the hospital for all it had done for his mother, but he was glad to see her out of it.

“You look so good, darling,” Susanna said, voice soft as she carefully studied Robbe’s face, tilting his chin. “You’ve cut your hair.” 

Robbe nodded. “It was getting too long,” he explained.

“It makes you look very grown-up,” Susanna said. 

“Mama, I…. I don’t know if you got my text,” Robbe swallowed his nerves, rocking on his heels slightly.

“About your boyfriend?” Susanna said. “Oh, darling, I can’t believe I forgot to reply - you know how I get, sometimes.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Oh, Robbe,” Susanna pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Robbe, my darling boy,” she said lovingly. “You have been the light of my life since the day you were born. If you like boys, then - well, it doesn’t change a thing, for me. You are still my gorgeous, kind, wonderful son.”

Robbe felt tears well up behind his eyes. “Mama, I’m gay,” he blurted out, clutching at his mother’s arms.

“And I am so endlessly proud of you, Robbe,” Susanna said, kissing each of his cheeks in turn. “You seem happier. Is that because of…..” she trailed off, unsure of Sander’s name.

“Sander,” Robbe filled in helpfully. “It’s because of him, mama. I love him.”

Susanna beamed. “I’m glad,” she said. “Will I get to meet him?”

Robbe nodded. “He - he’s spending Christmas with his family, but maybe after that?” he suggested.

“That would be lovely,” Susanna reassured, wrapping an arm around Robbe. “Now - we don’t have much time to get ready for Christmas, but I’m sure you and I call manage to pull it off.”

Robbe nodded. “I - I bought a Christmas tree,” he said, reaching for his mother’s suitcase. “Jens and the boys helped me to bring it home - it just needs to be decorated.”

“How lucky am I to have a son like you?” Susanna beamed, tugging him close. “Let’s go home.”

Robbe held her close as they walked out of the hospital, and toward the bus stop. “Let’s go home,” he echoed. 

Christmas had been a quiet one, this year. Robbe had expected, it really - his mama was doing really well, but that didn’t mean she was quite ready to host a big Christmas, with cousins and uncles and aunties. 

But, Robbe was just glad to have her home, the two of them cooking dinner together, Susanna playing her favourite records as they manoeuvred around their tiny kitchen, Susanna laughing at Robbe’s hopelessness.

And now - after an excruciating two days apart, Sander was sitting on Robbe’s childhood bed, socked feet in Robbe’s lap as they exchanged Christmas presents. Robbe hadn’t had much time to buy Sander a Christmas present, but he’d managed to find one, in the end.

“You said you were running out of them,” Robbe said, as Sander unwrapped the set of charcoal pencils, fingers running over them in wonder.

“Robbe,” Sander breathed softly. “This is too much.”

Robbe shrugged. “Don’t think it’s not just because I want more drawings from you,” he teased, pressing a thumb into the arch of Sander’s foot, his boyfriends socked feet wriggling in response. 

“Well, you are my muse, these days,” Sander grinned, leaning in to press a grateful kiss to Robbe’s lips. 

Robbe smiled into their embrace. “Glad to be of service.”

Sander kissed him once more, briefly, before he reached for his bag, scooping out two neatly wrapped gifts. “These are for you,” he said. “Open the smaller one, first.”

Robbe nodded, peeling away the sticky tape from the paper carefully, the drawings on the brown paper familiar, clearly Sander’s. He couldn’t help but laugh as he realised it was a little book of photographs, all taken before - and during - those tumultuous first weeks of their relationship. 

“I know things haven’t been easy,” Sander said softly. “But I never stopped loving you, Robbe. I guess - I hope this is a reminder that it wasn’t all bad,” he said, stumbling over his words.

Robbe traced over the photographs carefully, smiling at the memory of the ones Sander had taken of the two of them - ones from the Christmas market, ones from the day they’d spent holed up in Robbe’s bedroom.

“I know it hasn’t been all bad,” Robbe said, leaning in to kiss Sander softly.

“I know, but - I just wanted to give you something to remind you of how good it is, when things aren’t so good,” Sander said, looking almost hesitant, as he spoke, a seriousness to his voice that made Robbe all too aware this was going to be one of their big moments, Sander open about nearly all of his feelings - bar the ones related to his mental illness. “Things won’t always be good, Robbe,” he said, simply, the words still 

“And they won’t always be bad,” Robbe countered, wrapping him arms around Sander’s shoulders, holding him close, tucking his chin into the crook of Sander’s shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Sander hummed in reply, reluctant to move away from Robbe, even as he tried to pull back a little, to open his second present.

“I thought I was the clingy one,” Robbe teased, content to let Sander keep an arm slung around him as he unwrapped his second gift, the paper falling away to reveal a piece of Sander’s artwork. 

It was a pencil drawing of two people almost kissing - him and Sander, Robbe’s brain helpfully filled in - their lips so close to touching Robbe could practically feel the tension between the two outlines, memories of all those times Sander would happily deny him a kiss, just to get Robbe more worked up, flooding his mind.

“Sander, I don’t know what to say.”

“You can say you’ll frame it and hang it over your bed.”

Robbe looked around the room, his almost now unfamiliar childhood bedroom, medals from primary school and old family photos hanging amongst the mess of video game posters he’d plastered on the walls, believing they were the very thing that would make him cool. 

A piece of art like Sander’s felt like it would be so out of place, among the sixteen or so years of childishness that seemed to decorate every surface of the room he hadn’t lived in since the summertime. 

“I think my mama might find it inappropriate,” Robbe admitted, tracing over the carefully drawn lips. 

“I’m sure your mama is the kind of person to appreciate art.”  
Robbe fixed Sander with a serious look. “Art, yes - a reminder that every time she's not in the flat, I’m probably having sex with my boyfriend? No.”

Sander waggled his eyebrows. “You’re not having sex right now, are you?”

“Sander, be serious.”

“I am!”

Robbe shoved at his boyfriend, rolling his eyes. “I’ll post it on instagram,” he said, decisive, reaching for his phone, steadying the drawing on his lap as he took a photo. 

“You can do that, and also frame it nicely above your bed,” Sander pushed, a wicked grin fixed in place on his face, squinting at the blank space above Robbe’s bed. “I can see it, you know - you, in bed, all alone, missing me, this drawing all you have to keep you company.”

Robbe rolled his eyes. “You won’t have anything to keep you company if you keep going,” he muttered darkly, fingers hovering over the keyboard of his phone, typing out a caption for instagram.

“Then you won’t want to know that my mum said it’s fine for you to stay at my place, whenever you’d like, will you?” Sander said. “And I thought maybe you could come over on Saturday, because my mum is having a dinner with some friends, and we’d have the whole place to ourselves.”

Robbe couldn’t help but hesitate, thinking of his own mother.

“Robbe?”

“Can we wait and see how my mama is, before we decide?” Robbe braved asking, knowing this is a side of his life Sander didn’t know so well. Robbe was used to making sacrifices, to make sure his mother was okay, and he was so proud of how well she was doing now, but he was under no illusions about it staying that way forever.

He just hoped Sander would understand.

“Minute by minute,” Sander reminded. “It works both ways, Robbe.”

Robbe smiled, gently setting his gifts aside so he could fully focus on Sander, knowing they wouldn’t be damaged. “What will we do in this minute, then?” he asked, looking at Sander, curious.

“In this minute, we’ll kiss,” Sander said softly, leaning in to kiss Robbe, the action familiar, now. “And in the next, we’ll get out of your bed.”  
Robbe feigned disappointment. 

“I know, I know,” Sander sighed. “But your mama will be home soon, and as the best - and only - future son-in-law she’ll have, I want to make a great first impression on her and make her dinner.”

Robbe raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to make my mother like you more than she likes me?” 

“Yes,” Sander grinned, standing up and pulling Robbe with him, leading him to the kitchen. “Do you think it will work?”

Robbe shrugged. “Probably. If you make her favourite.”

“Which is?” Sander waited for Robbe to supply the answer.

“I’ll never give up my secrets, Driesen,” Robbe grinned, too slow to duck out of Sander’s way as his boyfriend dived in to tickle him, Robbe trying to squirm out of his grip, doubled over with laughter.

“Sander! Sander, stop!”

“Not until you tell me what to cook your mother!”

“Sander, I swear-“

“You’ll do what? Laugh some more? I can do this all day you know,” Sander smirked, clever fingers finding every ticklish spot on Robbe’s body.

“Fine, fine!” Robbe managed to say through his laughter, Sander easing up on the tickling, holding Robbe tightly from behind, inside, fingers poised for another attack if Robbe even tried to be sneaky.

This, Robbe decided, was as perfect as life could possibly get.

  
Robbe needn’t have worried about his mother and Sander getting along. In all honesty, he’d felt like a bit of a third wheel during their dinner, his mama and Sander talking about life, and love, and Robbe’s longstanding problem with the concept of gravity like they’d known each other a lifetime, instead of a few hours.

They’d gotten along so well that Robbe’s mama had even broken out the sparkling non-alcoholic cider she’d bought for Christmas (“Alcohol doesn’t mix well with my medication,” Susanna had admitted, as she poured them all a glass. “It doesn’t mix well with mine, either,” Sander replied, mother and apparent future son-in-law exchanging a knowing smile) and they’d talked long into the night.

Long enough that Robbe’s mama hadn’t felt it right to send Sander home, instead kissing them both goodnight and telling Sander he should stay. 

But Robbe’s bedroom door should stay open, of course.

(Robbe sometimes forgot that his mama would always see him as a baby.)

“I got you another Christmas present, you know,” Robbe said quietly, his bedroom only barely illuminated by the fading light of a lava lamp his father had bought him, years ago now.

Sander’s eyes were still bright, and curious, even in the dim light of Robbe’s bedroom. “Really?”

Robbe nodded, leaning out of bed so he could root in his backpack, grasping onto the small package carefully as he moved around, him and Sander nose to nose as he handed it over. 

Sander eagerly tore the paper apart, revealing the present inside. It was the spare key to their lock, set inside a clear box, Robbe having gotten Noor’s all too kind help to figure how to set the key in resin.

“It’s the spare key, from our lock,” Robbe explained. 

“I thought we threw them both into the river!”

“I kept one,” Robbe said. “I wanted you to have something to help you remember.”

“Remember what?”

“That you always have the key to my heart,” Robbe said, not caring how cheesy the words sounded as he finally voiced them aloud. “That I’m in this forever, Sander. Good, and bad - and ugly and brilliant. I’m not going anywhere.”

Sander looked at him with eyes shining with tears. “You really are an angel, Robbe,” he managed to choke out, holding the key close to his own heart.

“I told you before,” Robbe said. “In this universe, I stay with you. Now, you have proof.”

He’d never felt more sure of his own words, as he spoke them out loud, the promise sounding big, and life-changing, in a way, in the quiet of the night. Robbe didn’t mind the words being life-changing. Everything about Sander, about his relationship with Sander, had been life-changing, in the best and worst and most needed of ways, and maybe - maybe it was crazy, to be so sure at sixteen, but Robbe was sure.

He was sure he loved Sander. He was sure it wouldn’t be easy. And he was so, so sure he wanted it, this thing with Sander, easy or not. 

“I must have been really good, in another universe, to deserve you,” Sander whispered, thumb brushing the line of Robbe’s cheekbone, the pad of his thumb soft against Robbe’s skin.

Robbe simply kissed the inside of Sander’s wrist, shaking his head. “You are good in this universe, too,” he said. “You found me, when I needed you the most.”

“And you found me,” Sander countered, eyes flickering closed as they lay, nose to nose.

“And we’ll always find each other,” Robbe decided, tucking himself close to Sander, ear pressed to Sander’s chest, listening to the steady thrum of Sander’s heart, matching his own breathing to the slow, steady intakes of breath that Sander was taking.

He felt Sander’s hands card through his hair, fingers scratching at his scalp and lightly down his neck for a few minutes before Sander replied, his words sounding extraordinarily loud in the quiet of the evening.

“Always.”

Robbe was drunk. He wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t stand, or he didn’t know where he was, but he was definitely drunk. He’d taken one too many shots with Jens, considering Sander probably wouldn’t drink at all that evening, but Sander had pushed him away to join his friends with a grin, his boyfriend deep in conversation about some sort of queer film festival with Milan that Robbe couldn’t quite bring himself to try and understand.

(He’d make it a News Year resolution, okay?)

“Your boyfriend isn’t going anywhere, Robbe,” Jens teased, clinking his beer bottle against Robbe’s.

Robbe swallowed a hiccup. “I just like looking at him,” he couldn’t help but admit, grinning at his best friend. “Disgusting, right?”

Jens laughed. “Nah, man,” he shook his head. “I never realised how hard it must have been for you, to hide everything you had to hide from us. But I think I realise now, because you - you seem so free, Robbe. Like a weight has been lifted and you can really enjoy your life now.”

“That,” Robbe nodded. “Is exactly how it feels. I was - I was living a fake life before now, you know? I would play video games, and skate, and pretend like I felt the way you guys did when you’d talk about girls, and it was all fake. I wasn’t happy, not really.”

“And now?”

“I still play video games - and skate,” Robbe reassured, enjoying the way it made Jens laughed. “But - I don’t know. I feel like I’m living an actual life, now. I look forward to things, I look forward to doing things with Sander - stupid things, like going to buy groceries with him, or just knowing he’s waiting to pick me up from school. He makes me want to live an authentic life.”

“Cheers to that, man,” Jens nodded, a serious look on his face. “I’m glad you’re happy, Robbe. And I’m sorry if I wasn’t a good enough friend when you needed me to be.”

Robbe shook his head. “You’re my best friend, Jens.”

Jens grinned. “Good,” he said. “Because you know there are a lot of people who love you, Robbe. That’s a title that means a lot.”

Robbe couldn’t help but look around the room, the gathering of people he knew well, and others he didn’t know at all, all of them there to celebrate the end of 2019, and the beginning of a new decade. Sometimes - a lot of times, actually, it had been hard for Robbe to actually believe there were so many people who loved him, who cared about him.

He’d been so used to standing in the background and hiding away, that he hadn’t realised how much love he had in his life - and how much more incredible all the love felt now he wasn’t hiding away one of the biggest parts of himself.

“Come on, let’s go outside!” Jana yelled, cutting the music. “The fireworks will start soon!”

Sander’s hand found Robbe’s in the crowd as they shuffled outside, Antwerp alive with parties and people as the final seconds of the year were counted down, the cold December air making Robbe shiver as he listened to his friends enthusiastically count away those final ten seconds.

“Three, two - one!”

The night sky lit up in a kaleidoscope of colour, golds and silvers and greens and pinks turning the dark Antwerp sky into something magical, the year ending with Robbe surrounded by his friends.

And Sander.

Robbe looked up at Sander, his boyfriend looking stupidly gorgeous, the fireworks reflecting in his eyes, bright and brilliant - just like Sander. “I love you,” he blurted, twisting so they were nose to nose, the noise of the gathered crowd fading to the background as he focused on Sander.

“Happy New Year, Robbe,” Sander replied, his smile wide - and infectious.

“You think it’s going to be a good one?” Robbe inquired.

“I know it will be,” Sander replied, and before Robbe could say anything else, Sander was kissing him (his first ever New Years kiss, Robbe would realise much, much later, curled up in Sander’s attic room, his boyfriends arms holding him in a vice grip) and all Robbe could think was Sander, Sander, Sander.

Yeah.

It was going to be a good year.


	2. january

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> january is grey, and dull - and somehow, it always brings sadness into robbe's life, the christmas comedown always turning his mama into the saddest version of herself. but this january might just be different.
> 
> or - the month where robbe and sander start to learn the importance of communication.

**january**

_“The leaves hop, scraping on the ground._   
_It is deep January. The sky is hard.”_

The weather was terrible. It was the kind of storm where it looked as though it was never going to end, the sky heavy with rain, grey and dark. If you weren’t already in a bad mood, it was the sort of weather that would put you in one. 

Robbe hated January.

January was the worst month of the year, he decided, knees tucked to his chest as he sat on his windowsill, watching the rain thunder against the glass of his window.

The flat was quiet.

Robbe’s mama had started work, again, three days a week at the florist her sister owned, and today was one of her working days, leaving Robbe alone in the flat to enjoy one of the very last days of his Christmas holidays from school.

He didn’t mind, really.

Robbe had always been the sort of person who needed to have some time away from even the people he loved the most, to recover from life, he supposed. Zoë had called it introverted, once, the two of them bonding over their similarities, the two of them the kind of person who needed their alone time.

The problem was, Robbe should have met his father an hour ago for a rescheduled dinner. 

He definitely hadn’t done that. 

Robbe looked at his phone as the screen lit up again, the word papa flashing at him, his phone screen bright in the dim light of his room, the flat having gotten dark around him as Robbe had agonised over whether or not he could face a stiff dinner with his father.

Robbe tucked his chin into his chest, watching as the phone rang, and rang, and rang. 

He just hoped his father wouldn’t bother his mama, about this.

When his parents had first split up, when Robbe was eleven, his father would ring his mama every Friday, without fail, and make sure Robbe was ready to be collected from their old home at five o’clock, a bag for the weekend in hand, and every week, Robbe would have to go, never able to say no to his mama when she pleaded with him to go, for her, if not for himself.

Robbe was twelve, when his father had bought him his first phone. He’d had enough of having to beg Robbe’s mother to make sure he was ready for the weekends he was supposed to spend with his father, and figured he’d go directly to Robbe, instead.

That didn’t work for long, Robbe remembered. With a phone of his own, he had the freedom to make excuses as to why he couldn’t spend the weekend at his fathers home.

He’d gotten his mama in trouble, then, his father coming and threatening that he would take her to court if he wasn’t allowed to see Robbe, like they’d agreed in the terms of the divorce. 

He hadn’t meant to get his mama in trouble.

Robbe just hated having to leave her behind, and spend weekends with his father. 

With his step-mother.

Robbe swallowed thickly, watching as one missed call from his father turned into four, and then the stream of texts began, worried, at first, and then angry, angry that Robbe had done this again, and where was he, and why couldn’t he just come for dinner?

There was a lot of reasons why Robbe didn’t want to come for dinner, and if he started explaining them all, he would be sitting at the windowsill for the rest of his life, putting into words all of the horrible, toxic feelings that had been sitting in his chest since he was ten and his father had walked out of the only home Robbe had ever known.

No, that wasn’t a conversation Robbe was ready to have.

Reaching for his phone, Robbe dismissed the notifications from his father, pulling up Sander’s number, instead, the dial tone feeling oddly comforting as he tucked his phone under his chin, waiting for his boyfriend to answer.

“ _Robbe_.” Sander’s voice was like coming home. “ _How was dinner with your papa_?”

 **Papa**. 

Like he deserved to be called that.

“He, uh, had to cancel,” Robbe shook his head. “There was a work emergency.”

“ _I’m sorry_.”

“It’s okay,” Robbe shrugged, glancing out the window as a peal of lightening flashed in the sky. “I guess it’s not a good time for me to cycle to your house?”

Sander was quiet, for a second. “ _No_ ,” he agreed. “ _But I could drive to yours_.”

Robbe raised an eyebrow. “You have a car?”

“ _I don’t_ ,” Sander replied. “ _But Lotte does, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I borrowed it for a few hours. She’s not going back to Leiden until Tuesday_.”

Lotte. Sander’s sister, Lotte, Robbe reminded himself.

“No,” Robbe shook his head. “It’s fine. It’s not good weather to drive in, and - I’ll see you tomorrow, anyway, right?”

“ _Right_ ,” Sander confirmed. “ _Robbe, are you sure you’re okay_?”

Robbe plastered a smile on his face, hoping the fake expression would show in his voice as he replied. “I’m fine, Sander, don’t worry,” he replied. “Just, a little tired, that’s all.”

Sander’s reply was simple. “ _I love you._ ”

The words were never, ever going to get old. “I love you too,” Robbe breathed, eyes fluttering shut as he replied, listening to Sander’s even, familiar breathing for a few seconds.

“ _I can come over, Robbe_.”

Robbe couldn’t help but smile. “I’d ask, if I needed you to,” he reassured. “Just, promise you’ll pick me up from school tomorrow.”

Sander’s tone was light, as he replied. “ _I promise_ ,” he reassured. “ _What time are you finished again_?”

“15:00, I think,” Robbe said. “We’ve got a shorter day, because it’s the first day back.”

 _“Don’t get distracted then_ ,” Sander teased. “ _I have a surprise_.”

“Sander.”

“ _The first day back to school is the worst_ ,” Sander hushed. “ _You’ll like it_.”

“Fine,” Robbe relented. “But you do too many surprises, Sander.”

“ _There’s no such thing as too many surprises!_ ” Sander replied cheerfully.

Robbe couldn’t help his soft smile. “I think I’ll go to sleep,” he lied, the wind getting even louder as he gazed out the window, hoping his mama had worn a raincoat that morning on her way to work.

Sander didn’t argue. “ _Sleep well, Robbe._ ”

“See you tomorrow,” Robbe replied, finger hovering over the end call button for a second or two before he committed to hanging up, not wanting to give himself the chance to change his mind and ask Sander to come over.

No, that wouldn’t help much, Robbe decided. 

He needed some time alone.

His phone went off, as Robbe went through the motions of getting ready for bed, one of Sander’s shirts a stand-in for a pyjama top that night. Robbe couldn’t help but laugh as he opened the newest message from Sander, a photo of a hastily sketched drawing of a cartoonish Sander and Robbe, curled up in a comically small bed.

_I miss sleeping beside you._

Robbe smiled, taking a photo of the newly framed drawing Sander had given as a Christmas present on his bedside locker, propped against the wall.

_**You’re here.** _

Flicking his phone to silent, and making sure he had an alarm set for the morning, Robbe turned off his stupid lava lamp, curling up under his covers.

He must have drifted off to sleep, because it was a few hours later when he felt the edge of his bed dip, his mama’s hands brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Are you awake, Robbe?” she asked, voice soft.

Determined to keep his facade up, Robbe kept his breathing slow, and even. 

“You break my heart sometimes, my darling boy,” his mama said softly, pressing a kiss to this forehead. “I wish I could make it all better.”

His father must have called.

“Sleep well, Robbe.”

Robbe waited until his mother had left, almost closing his bedroom door - but not quite - the same way she had his entire life.

His father shouldn’t have rang his mother. It would only stress her out, his father knew that - knew how bad things could get when she was stressed. 

Closing his eyes tightly, Robbe willed sleep to find him again.

He’d get to see Sander, tomorrow, at least.

  
It felt like it had been the longest school-day of Robbe’s entire life, and he sort of felt like he wanted to melt into the pavement when he noticed Sander standing here, headphones in and foot-tapping on the concrete, in time with whatever song he was listening to. 

“Hi,” Robbe tugged on Sander’s leather jacket, waiting to get his boyfriends attention.

Sander beamed, pulling his headphones off. “Hi, cutie,” he greeted, leaning in to press a kiss to Robbe’s lips, hooking an arm around his waist. 

Robbe couldn’t help the flush of embarrassment that rose in his cheeks at the term of endearment. “Hi,” he replied, voice soft. “Can we get out of here?”

Sander nodded. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just - it’s been a long day,” Robbe shook his head, reaching for Sander’s hand, nudging him. “What’s my surprise then?”

“It’s not a surprise if I tell you,” Sander reminded, tugging Robbe in the opposite direction, swinging their hands between the two of them as they walked down the street. 

“I don’t like surprises.”

“You do,” Sander singsonged, looking happier than Robbe thinks he’s been all week. It’s not as if Robbe had a huge amount of experience, with bipolar, but he was learning to recognise Sander’s behaviour a bit more easily. He was slowly, but surely, on the way up and out of a depressive episode, and there were so many little things that Robbe was recognising as the signs of better days to come - an easier smile on Sander’s face, more colour in his drawings, his boyfriend more enthusiastic about getting out, and doing things.

Like surprises. 

“Here,” Sander announced proudly, stopping them outside an ice-cream parlour Robbe vaguely recognised.

Robbe couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Ice-cream?” he couldn’t help but question his boyfriends choices. “Sander, it’s January.”

“Does that mean you can’t have ice-cream?”

“I mean - yes, it does mean you can’t have ice-cream,” Robbe laughed, shaking his head. “It’s cold, Sander! It’s like, minus five degrees.”

“You’re very dramatic,” Sander laughed, tugging on Robbe’s wrist and leading him inside. It was quiet - because everyone else was probably getting coffee, considering how cold it was - and they were served quickly, Robbe unable to argue any further when Sander fixed him with an expectant look, waiting for Robbe to chose a flavour.

Slowly peeling off the many layers of clothes he had on to protect against the bitter January air, Robbe sat down at the tiny table Sander had chosen for him, their knees bumping together as they sat, Sander diving into his ice-cream long before Robbe found the confidence to try his first scoop of the icy treat. 

“So, why ice-cream?” Robbe inquired, swirling his spoon in the slowly melting vanilla ice-cream he had chosen, Sander having gone for the slightly more insane combination of lemon and chocolate.

Sander shrugged. “I was thinking about something nice we could do, seeing as its the first day back at school,” he admitted. “And the more I thought, the more I realised that we never really went on dates, before.”

Robbe’s heart thundered in his chest as he remembered the one proper date they had been on, memories of kicks and fists and - no, no, now wasn’t the time for that, now was the time to have a nice date with his boyfriend.

“And maybe its doing it all a bit backwards,” Sander continued. “But I want to date you.”

Robbe smiled, his mood lifting slowly but surely. “I’d like to date you too,” he laughed. “I mean, I thought we were dating.”

Sander returned the laugh, the sound absolutely magical in the quiet of the cafe. “We definitely are,” he agreed. “But its good to make an effort, right? And go on dates, and do things like this - more than just hanging out at ours, or mine, or going to parties. I - I’m in this for real, Robbe, and that means making an effort. Well, I think - I’m not really a relationship expert.”

Robbe studied Sander’s face carefully. “You’re my first relationship,” he admitted. “Like, ever. Noor and I barely dated, and there was no one before her, not really. No one other than girls I’d make out with at parties to try and impress the guys.”

Sander hooked an ankle around Robbe’s, listening intently.

“I can’t promise I’ll be any good at it - being your boyfriend, I mean,” Robbe said, chewing on the side of his lip.

“You will be,” Sander reassured, not missing a beat.

“No, I mean…” Robbe trailed off, looking around the quiet cafe. “I’m used to being on my own, I guess. And I’m realising that’s meant I’m not very good at letting people into my life, or telling people things that are - uh - really personal, I guess.”

Sander’s brow furrowed. “Do you need to tell me something?”

Probably.

“No,” Robbe shook his head. “I guess I just mean in general. And I’ll try and be better about it.”

Sander nodded. “I mean - that’s all we can do, right? Try?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“I haven’t always exactly been the best person to date either, have I?” Sander pointed out, somehow sensing Robbe’s insecurity. “I didn’t tell you some pretty important things about myself.”

“Not exactly first-date material, I guess,” Robbe joked, trying his best to lighten the mood. This was probably a conversation they should have had a long time ago, now, Robbe supposed - but if he was honest, he hadn’t really wanted to.

“Still,” Sander hummed. “You know - you can ask me about it, right? If you want to know anything. I’m not very - I’m not very good at talking about it - my bipolar, I mean,” he said, the words sounding as though they were sticking in his throat. “But I’m sure you’re curious, Robbe, or that there’s things you feel you should know. I’m not going to be offended if you ask.”

“I’ll ask,” Robbe reassured. “But I guess there’s not a definitive list of things I should know, and would happen every time?”

Sander shook his head. “No,” he admitted. “There’s not. I - I was diagnosed a year ago,” he said, pausing to take another bite of his ice-cream. “So I’m still learning about it myself.”

“Then we can learn together,” Robbe reassured with a smile, reaching across the table to brush his fingers across Sander’s hand, charcoal stained knuckles slowly becoming familiar until his fingertips.

Sander leaned down, pressing a cold kiss to the back of Robbe’s hand. “Love you,” he murmured quietly, giving Robbe’s hand a squeeze before turning his attention back to his ice-cream. “So,” he grinned. “I’m your first, then.”

Robbe slumped in his chair, rolling his eyes. “You knew that,” he pointed out, cheeks flushing pink as he remembered the quiet, nerve-wracking conversation they’d had that night back at the flat, Sander’s hands on his waist and his mouth _very_ much about to go where no man had gone before.

“I know, but weirdly, I like hearing it again,” Sander admitted with a self-satisfied smirk. 

“You are weird,” Robbe huffed. He hated being the inexperienced one, fumbling with his hands and needing direction.

“You’re annoyed.”

“You’re _annoying_.”

“Robbe,” Sander leaned a bit closer. “Can I tell you something?”

Robbed looked up, arms folded across his chest, his ice-cream melting. 

“I hooked up with a couple of guys, last year - before Britt and I were together,” Sander said, his gaze intense. “But I wasn’t making it up, Robbe. You’re the first guy I’ve ever properly dated.”

The possessive part of Robbe’s brain was far too pleased about hearing that, and Robbe sort of cursed the cave-man part of his brain that did exactly that. 

“This is new to me, too,” Sander said, that soft, kind voice he seemed to reserve for Robbe, and Robbe alone, making an appearance. “We can figure it out together.”

“Figure it out?”

“How to be madly, deeply in love for the rest of our lives,” Sander grinned, trapping Robbe’s ankle between both of his own, now, eagerly tucking into the last of his ice-cream.

Robbe couldn’t help but grimace as he watched Sander wolf down the disgusting looking sorbet and chocolate combination, clearly enjoying it. “We need to have a serious conversation about your flavour choices,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Lemon and chocolate, really?”

“Vanilla, really?” Sander mocked, pointing at Robbe’s ice-cream.

“Vanilla is a classic!”

“Classically _boring_ , Robbe.” 

Robbe felt sick, from the amount of sugar they’d eaten that afternoon, Sander deciding they needed to follow up their ice-cream date with a pitstop at a cafe for a hot-chocolate, they two of them holed up in a corner of a busy cafe, holding hands and Robbe laughing until his stomach hurt as Sander refused to wipe away his cream moustache.

They’d gotten caught in the rain, as Sander had walked Robbe home, his boyfriend crowding him into a doorway and kissing him senseless as they waited for the worst of the rain to pass over.

“Sorry I’m late, mama,” Robbe called, hanging his keys on the hook by the door, shrugging off his jacket. 

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Robbe didn’t reply as he padded through their cosy flat, trying to figure out what exactly the smell was. Chinese food, maybe - sometimes his mama would surprise him with a takeaway.

Except - except, well, it was Robbe’s father sitting at the kitchen table, a takeaway bag next to his elbow, his parents looking as though they’d just been in the midst of an altogether serious conversation.

“What’s going on?” he asked, hanging back in the doorway.

“Robbe, schatje, sit down,” his mama tried, sitting up a little straighter in her seat. 

“Why are you here?” Robbe demanded, looking at his father.

“Robbe, please, sit down,” his papa said. “It’s time we talked.”

“About what?” Robbe didn’t want to move, gripping onto doorframe. He didn’t want to have this conversation now, or ever, if he was being honest. 

“Robbe, I haven’t seen you in months,” his papa said, shaking his head. “It’s not right, Robbe. And when you finally agreed to have dinner, you couldn’t even come inside and say hello.”

Robbe swallowed thickly. “Other people would get the message,” he said quietly, trying to look everywhere else than at his mama, because if he looked at her and saw her pleading face, he’d probably give in and do whatever she asked.

No, no - not this time.

“Robbe,” his mama tried to reprimand, her voice soft.

“No, mama, he doesn’t get to come back here and pretend like he really wants to see me,” Robbe shook his head. “It’s only ever been to - to prove to his new family that he cares about the son he walked out on.”

“Robbe!” his father had the audacity to sound offended, his eyes wide as Robbe’s words sunk in.

“What? It’s true, isn’t it?” Robbe said. “You had to go to court to force me to spend time with you, just so your new wife doesn’t realise what a waste of space you really are.”

“Well, maybe you’d do well to remember that court order applies until you’re eighteen, Robbe,” his father was angry, now, his words harsh and hanging heavily in the air between the three of them.

Robbe barked out an angry laugh. “So that’s why you’re here? To remind me that I’ll legally obligated to see you two weekends a month?” 

“Robbe, no, that’s not what I meant -“

“Do you even care about whats going on in my life?” Robbe interrupted. “You barely put up a fight when I told you I didn’t want to live with you. You haven’t once asked me how my exams went - you just about managed to pretend to sound supportive when I came out to you. Why should I honour the court order when you are a pitiful excuse for a father?”

“Robbe, darling, please,” his mama’s hand was on his arm, now, and it was only then that Robbe realised he had been shouting, stunning his parents into silence as he let lose. 

“I needed you, when I was a child,” Robbe spat. “But I don’t need you anymore.”

He couldn’t be there, not any longer, and as Robbe stormed out of the kitchen and back toward the front door, he could feel tears forming in the corners of his eyes, anger and sadness and grief bubbling up in his chest to form a toxic combination, tears pouring down his cheeks as he shoved his feet into his shoes, shrugging his jacket on.

“Robbe, love - where are you going?”

“Sander’s,” Robbe replied, refusing to turn around. He hated upsetting his mama. Without waiting for an answer, he slammed out of the front door, thundering down the stairs of their apartment building.

The rain was thundering against the pavement as Robbe stepped outside, soaking into his jacket as he walked down the street, reaching for his phone with fumbling fingers, pulling up Sander’s number.

“ _Hi, Robbe. How are_ -“

“Sander?” Robbe interrupted tearfully. 

“ _Robbe, is everything okay_?”

“Can you come and collect me?” Robbe asked, tears mingling with rainwater as he stood in the middle of his street, hopelessness feeling every cavity of his chest as he waited for Sander’s reply.

“ _Send me your location_ ,” Sander said, sounding as though he was already moving on the other end of the line. “ _I’ll come get you now_.”

Robbe just about managed to splutter out a reply as he started walking again, no direction in mind. “Thank you.”

  
Robbe wasn’t sure how long he sat on the steps of his local church, waiting for Sander, but judging by how soaked through his clothes had gotten, it was probably a while. Or maybe it wasn’t - maybe the weather really was just that bad.

An unfamiliar car slowed to a stop in front of the church, and it wasn’t until Sander got out of the car that Robbe realised it was his boyfriend behind the wheel. He had a hoodie on, tugged up and over his bleached blond hair, and his face fell as he took in Robbe’s dishevelled appearance.

“Robbe,” his voice was soft, Sander crouching down in front of Robbe. “Robbe. Robbe, schatje, what’s happened?”

Robbe choked back a sob, unable to do anything except throw his arms around Sander’s neck, clinging to his boyfriend. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, fingers knotting in the string of Sander’s hoodie. 

“Hey, don’t be sorry,” Sander said softly. “Let’s get you in out of the rain,” he decided for the two of them, hooking his arms around Robbe’s waist and practically dragging him up off the cold concrete steps of the church, holding tightly to Robbe’s waist as he pulled him toward the car. 

Peeling Robbe’s sodden backpack off his shoulders, Sander tossed it into the back-seat before he pushed Robbe into the passenger seat of the car, even going as far as to buckle Robbe’s seatbelt.

Robbe slumped against the window, unable to stop his tears now they’d properly started, sobs wracking his body, tears blurring his vision enough that he missed more of Sander’s concerned looks than he had to acknowledge.

They drove in silence, Sander reaching for Robbe’s hand at the next set of traffic lights, knotting their fingers together tightly.

A few months ago, it would have terrified Robbe to get so much comfort from one person, from one simple gesture, but now - well, it was just a comfort, Sander’s hand warm against his bitterly cold fingers. 

If he was being even slightly logical, Robbe probably would have made a fuss of Sander not having both hands on the wheel when he was driving, always the more nervous one of the two of them, but there and then, well - Robbe didn’t care all that much.

“My mama is out for dinner,” Sander explained as he pulled into the parking space in front of his house. “There’s no one else at home. Okay?”

“Okay,” Robbe managed to say.

Sander switched off the engine, reaching for Robbe’s backpack as the two of them got out of the car, Robbe following his boyfriend into the house. He felt immediately freezing cold as he stepped inside the warm house, realising just how soaked through his clothes were.

“Come on,” Sander said softly. “You need to get warm.”

Robbe felt helpless to do anything except follow Sander up the stairs, the Driesen household more familiar to him now, than it had been a few weeks ago, realising Sander was leading him to the bathroom. 

Watching as Sander pushed the sleeves of his hoodie up, messing with the controls for the giant shower, Robbe couldn’t stop his tiny smile as he realised Sander was in his pyjamas - wearing the most ridiculous checkered trousers he’d ever seen in his life.

“Come, come on,” Sander urged, unzipping Robbe’s jacket. “You’ll get cold, Robbe.”

Robbe nodded, forcing himself to be helpful, stripping out of his soaking wet clothes. 

“Shower,” Sander ordered, pushing Robbe under the hot water. “I’m going to get you some clothes, okay?”

Robbe nodded, stepping under the boiling hot spray, warmth slowly returning to his body as he let the water wash over him. Pushing his hair back out of his eyes, Robbe scanned the shelf next to him, realising this must be Sander’s own bathroom, the products familiar as ones that Sander had left in Robbe’s room.

Scrubbing some of Sander’s shampoo into his hair, Robbe tipped his head back, washing the woody scented soap away. Feeling infinitely better, Robbe switched off the shower, reaching for the thick towel Sander had left on the sink for him, wrapping it tightly around himself, padding toward Sander’s room.

“I was just coming back,” Sander said, holding a t-shirt and sweatpants out for Robbe to take.

“Thank you,” Robbe said softly, tugging the t-shirt on, not caring he was still damp from his shower.

“I think you need a jumper, too,” Sander decided, rooting in his wardrobe, producing a familiar pale pink jumper. 

“I think this looks better on you,” Robbe tried to joke, pulling it on over his head, the sleeves coming down over his hands.

“I disagree,” Sander grinned, face falling almost instantly. “Robbe, what happened?”

“I….” Robbe trailed off, struggling to speak. It felt like every possible explanation he could give, every way he could tell Sander about what was happening, were stuck in his throat, words clogging up his throat and making it hard to breathe. 

“Robbe?”

“Can we - can we talk about it tomorrow?” Robbe found himself practically begging, tears welling in his eyes again.

“Of course,” Sander reassured, pulling Robbe in for a tight hug, Robbe unable to do anything except cry again, sobbing into the shoulder of Sander’s hoodie. “Oh, Robbe,” his boyfriends voice was soft, and unsure, having never seen Robbe this upset before. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m here, I promise.”

  
Robbe’s eyes felt as though they’d been glued shut, when he woke the next morning, the aftermath of his tears making his face feel puffy, his eyes sore. He shifted, slightly, as he woke up, realising Sander was still holding him tightly.

They must have slept like that - tangled up in each other. 

Robbe coughed, a little, his throat dry from how much he’d cried, the previous evening, and without meaning to, he woke Sander up. “Sorry,” he whispered an apology, taking in his boyfriends sleepy face, Sander looking nothing short of adorable when he woke up, all heavy eyed and soft edges.

“S’okay,” Sander replied, pressing his lips to Robbe’s forehead in a gentle embrace. 

“Sorry for - for everything, I mean,” Robbe corrected himself. “I was a little crazy, last night.”

“You weren’t,” Sander shook his head. “Robbe, you’re allowed to be upset. I’m glad you came to me.”

“You are?”  
“You’re not alone, Robbe,” Sander said, voice quiet. “Though, my arm is pretty dead. That you can be sorry about.”

Robbe realised he was lying on Sander’s right arm, and he squirmed out of his boyfriend’s grip. “Sorry,” he said, gentle fingers rubbing the pins and needles out of Sander’s wrist, and forearm. “I slept well, if that helps.”

Sander laughed. “It does,” he said, squinting in the dim light of his bedroom, leaning around Robbe to flick the switch on the string of lights he had wrapped around his headboard, his bedroom bathed in soft, golden light.

Propping himself against Sander’s headboard, Robbe tucked his knees to his chest, looking carefully at his boyfriend. “It was my dad,” he said after a few seconds of quiet, wondering just how he was going to put this whole situation into words. “That was what upset me, last night.”

“You never talk about him - your father,” Sander commented, moving so he was sitting up as well, the two of them practically nose-to-nose. 

Robbe nodded his head in acknowledgement. “We don’t have a great relationship,” he admitted. “Maybe that’s obvious.”

“A little,” Sander’s teasing tone eased the nervousness Robbe felt at finally telling someone this. 

Jens knew some of it. Of course he did - Robbe had asked to spend too many nights staying with his best friends family to be able to fully hide the situation from Jens, or Jens’ parents. But even Jens didn’t know everything, and Moyo and Aaron knew even less, and that had always been intentional, on Robbe’s part.

He didn’t want anyone's sympathy.

He definitely didn’t need it.

“My father left, when I was eleven,” Robbe said, deciding it was best if he just jumped into it. “I used to think it was my fault, because I wasn’t really the son he wanted. I didn’t like soccer, I didn’t want to sit and watch boring documentaries with him. I - I thought for the first few weeks he’d left because I had wanted to watch a movie with my mama, than spend the day with him.”

The memory still stung, even now, years later. He remembered the day his father had walked out on their family so very, very clearly. It had been a Tuesday, and it was sunny. Robbe had come home from school, and eaten his lunch, and done his homework with his mama’s help, and his father had suggested they go to a museum - and Robbe had begged his mama to let him stay home so he could watch a movie with her, instead.

“I know that’s not why now,” Robbe continued, Sander’s fingers absently drawing circles on the bare skin of Robbe’s ankle as he spoke, trying to offer him some comfort. “He left because he found someone else.”

Sander’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Robbe.”

“So am I,” Robbe hummed. “He met someone new, and that someone didn’t have a mental illness, like my mama, and he wanted an easier life.”

“Did he say that to you?”

Robbe shook his head. “Not directly,” he said, rubbing at his tired, tear sore eyes. “I never wanted to stay with him, and his new family - not after how heartbroken my mama was when he left. But he took us to court, and they said I had to spend two weekends a month with him, and the first weekend I was there, I overheard him speaking to his new partner.”

Robbe’s step-mum, actually - though Robbe had refused to even entertain the idea of attending his fathers wedding, screaming phone-calls and tears amounting to nothing. Nothing other than Robbe and his mama spending the weekend with his grandparents, in the countryside, his grandfather teaching him how to play chess as his mama screened the hundreds of phone-calls his father was behind.

“I wanted water,” Robbe recalled. “So I went downstairs, and he was talking to my, uh, step-mother, about how hard it had been, to live with my mother, and how he was worried I would end up exactly like her.”

“Fuck, Robbe.”

“Maybe it was hard, for him,” Robbe couldn’t stop now, he had started. “But he made it harder for me, Sander. My mama wasn’t diagnosed until I was thirteen, and for two years, I was the one who had to take care of her - I had to do our laundry, and cook, and take care of us both when she was having an episode. I didn’t know what to do, not really. I couldn't say no, when she would wake me up in the middle of the night because she’d decided we should go on an adventure. I was a child, and he left me to deal with that on my own.”

“I don’t know what to say, Robbe,” Sander said, reaching for one of Robbe’s hands. "Except that I’m sorry you had to go through that on your own.”

“I got used to it,” Robbe said. “And I think that’s why I hate him so much, because I had to get used to it, and then he would be annoyed that I didn’t come to his house twice a month, happy and excited to spend my two weekends with him a month. He demands so much of me, Sander, and he doesn’t deserve any of it.”

“Is that why you lived with Milan, and Zoë, when your mama was in hospital?” Sander asked, slowly putting the pieces of Robbe’s life together, understanding him a little more, Robbe assumed.  
“He wanted me to come and live with him, when my mama had to be hospitalised,” Robbe said. “I had to, the first time it happened - I was thirteen, and they wouldn’t let me go and stay with my grandparents, because there wasn’t a school, near them, so I had to move in with him and be forced to play happy families with his new family - the one he abandoned me for - and when she had to go to hospital again, I couldn’t do that. Not again. We just fight, every time we’re in the same room, and I’m tired of it.”

Sander gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “What happened last night?”

“I was supposed to go for dinner with him, the night - the night you sent me that voice message, about how there wasn’t anything between us,” Robbe explained, hating to have to drag the memory up again, Sander tensing at his words, the blond boy looking as though he had to force himself to relax, and let the tension go. 

“Right,” Sander’s voice was quiet, and small.

“I got to the cafe, where we had arranged to meet, and I listened to that message and i just couldn’t do it, I couldn’t go and sit with him while everything that was happening with you, was happening, and pretend like I don’t hate him every second of every day for walking out on me.”

“Robbe.”

“I know it sounds harsh, and he didn’t - it’s not like he hit us, or anything,” Robbe shook his head, missing the way Sander tensed at his words. “But he still left, Sander, and I don’t know why I’m expected to always forgive him, and let him in to my life, every time. He called around last night because I cancelled dinner with him again, and he was so angry, he dragged my mama into this - and he threatened to take it back to court, if I didn’t spend some time with him.”

Sander looked angry, now, brow furrowed and his expression hard. “That’s not fair,” he shook his head. “Robbe, that’s not fair.”

Robbe shrugged. “Until I’m eighteen, he isn’t wrong, I have to abide by what the court has said, or I get my mama in trouble, and things are hard enough as it is,” he said. “I won’t add to it.”

“So what do you think you’re going to do?” Sander inquired. 

“Stay here forever?”

Sander laughed, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Robbe’s mouth. “I’m sure my mother won’t mind, but yours might,” he said. “About your dad, though. You should do something.”

“I know, I just don’t know what.”

Sander let out a shaky breath. “Can I tell you something? And I’m not telling you this to make you feel guilty, or force you to give your father another chance, because that’s ultimately your decision. But…”

“You can tell me.”

“Living with someone who is mentally ill is hard,” Sander said. “I know that from experience. I have two sisters, Robbe - and Lotte, she tries to get it, she does. But Clara, she has always found me impossible, because she never knows what to do, or say, or how to approach me if I’m having a manic episode, or a depressive one.”

“Sander, no -“

“Hey, hey, let me finish,” Sander interrupted gently. “But she’s getting better, because she’s had space, for a few years now - she lives in Germany, and she needed the space to learn how to deal with it. And I’m not saying it’s right, but it was something she needed to do in order to come to terms with my bipolar.”

“She shouldn’t have had to come to terms with it!” Robbe argued, offended on his boyfriends behalf.

“You say that because you’re the most impossibly kind person I’ve ever met, Robbe,” Sander said, his voice full of admiration. “But other people aren’t like that, and it sounds like your dad is one of those people. And in some ways - I get it, you know? You - you commit to an unpredictable life, in so many ways, and some people can’t handle the uncertainty that comes with loving someone who has a mental illness. And that doesn’t excuse their behaviour, but it explains it, I think.”

“You don’t walk away from people you love because things get complicated,” Robbe said, determined, recognising Sander’s self-deprecation all too easily. His boyfriend was convinced he was a burden to the people he loved him, all because of his bipolar, and if Robbe could get every person in the world that allowed him to feel that way in front of him in one room, he would have a lot of unkind things to say to them. 

You wouldn’t leave someone just because they had the flu - or a broken leg. A mental illness was no difference, and despite the strangeness of those first few years, before his mama was diagnosed and he wasn’t really sure what was happening, Robbe had never really thought to think any other way.

“You don’t walk out on your son because his mother gets too complicated,” Robbe continued, a sob hiccuping in his throat, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. 

“No,” Sander said firmly, gathering Robbe into his arms, hugging him tightly. “No, you don’t,” he agreed, rubbing slow circles across Robbe’s back. 

“I just - I need space,” Robbe said into Sander’s shoulder. “I need space to figure out what to do, and him turning up at my apartment doesn’t help all the mess going on in my head.”

“Chernobyl?” Sander joked, the corners of his mouth quirking up.

“Not as bad,” Robbe pulled back a little, so that he was looking at Sander properly. “Maybe a pre-explosion.”

“A slight emergency?” 

“Yup,” Robbe nodded. “My mama won’t be happy, that I ran out,” he sighed, glancing over at his bag where his phone was hidden. 

“No?”

Robbe shook his head. “She likes to talk things through for hours and hours,” he explained. “I’m not very good at that.”

“Me neither,” Sander admitted, fingers knotted in the too-long hair at the back of Robbe’s neck. “But it’s what they want you to do, when you’re in therapy. It helps - to put your thoughts out there.”

“Do you find it helps you?” Robbe inquired, curious.

Sander hummed quietly. “I want to say it does,” he said. “And I think it will, eventually, but I have to really commit myself to going regularly, like I should have been.”

“Why did you stop going?”

“Because I felt good, again,” Sander admitted with a sad smile. “And sometimes, when I feel good, I think I don’t need the therapy - or the medicine anymore, even though that’s whats making me feel good.”

“That makes sense,” Robbe said, after a few moments of contemplation. “Will you promise me something?”

Sander nodded. “Anything.”

“You’ll talk to me, about things,” Robbe said. “And I’ll talk to you, about my dad - and everything else. And we’ll keep figuring out how to be good - together.”

Sander grinned, holding out a pinky finger for Robbe to hook his own around. “Pinky promise,” he hummed. “Have you got school this morning?” he asked, not quiet letting go of Robbe’s finger.

“At ten,” Robbe said, looking at his watch. “I didn’t bring any spare clothes.”

“You can just have some of mine,” Sander shrugged, pressing a kiss just below Robbe’s eye, both of them lying at a slightly wrong angle to properly kiss. Robbe watched as Sander eased himself out of bed, the solid line of his shoulders, his tanned skin, distracting Robbe.

His boyfriend was ridiculously gorgeous.

Robbe was comfortable enough in his own skin to admit that, now - secure enough in his new identity as gay to openly, unapologetically drool over Sander as his boyfriend searched his wardrobe for clothes for Robbe to wear.

Tossing a t-shirt over his shoulder that hit Robbe in the face, Sander laughed. “Come on, get dressed - I’ll make you breakfast,” he encouraged, tugging a clean t-shirt on over his head, the band emblazoned across the front one Robbe didn’t recognise. 

He didn’t recognise most of the bands Sander liked, if he was being honest. 

Peeling the pyjama top and jumper he was wearing over his head, Robbe examined the t-shirt Sander had given him - Stranger Things. He hadn’t expected Sander to like Stranger Things, in all honesty.

“And a jumper,” Sander continued, throwing a guy jumper at Robbe. “Because you’re always cold.”

“I’m not always cold!”

“It’s like sharing a bed with an ice-block, Robbe. I was tempted to get you socks for Christmas, it’s that bad.”  
“Fuck off,” Robbe rolled his eyes. 

Sander simply grinned, continuing his trawl of his wardrobe, dressing them both simultaneously. “Underwear,” he said, opening another drawer. “And trousers, because my mama washed all your clothes last night and none of them are dry.”

“She did?”

“I think she’d adopt you, and sell me, if I let her,” Sander teased, fully dressed now.

Robbe reluctantly eased himself out of Sander’s comfortable bed, easing the underwear, and then the trousers over his legs, the material tighter than he’d usually go for, if he was buying clothes.

“Do you only own skinny jeans?” Robbe raised an eyebrow. 

Sander smirked. “You look hot, in my clothes,” he said, voice low, the kind of tone that could easily send shivers down his spine. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Sander confirmed, pulling Robbe in by the loops of his borrowed trousers, pressing a slow, not-so-chaste kiss to his lips. “You’ll be late for school,” he murmured softly, his breath hot against Robbe’s skin.

“You’re the one making me late.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Robbe?” Sander’s voice was soft, as he pulled up outside Robbe’s school, having borrowed his mother’s car again, bikes and public transport out of the question, considering their delayed start to the morning.

“Yeah?”

“Minute by minute, remember?”

Robbe smiled. “Minute by minute.”

  
Robbe was late for school.

He was very, very late for school, and it was all Sander’s fault. He’d missed his entire first class, and he was sure he was going to get in trouble, for that one - from Yasmina, mostly, his desk-buddy never pleased when Robbe would skip out on classes.

It was because she cared, Robbe knew that much.

Leaning against his locker, Robbe rooted in his pocket for his phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he pulled his father’s number up.

His talk with Sander had helped.

_**Hi papa. I need some time. You’ve hurt me a lot, over the years. So I need time.** _

Before Robbe could talk himself out of sending the message, he pressed send, letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding as the message was flagged as sent. 

Progress.

It was progress - for Robbe at least. 

Over the last few months, Robbe had come to terms with a lot. His sexuality, most of all, falling in love with Sander spurring Robbe out of the closet at hyper-speed. But his father - his father was something he’d never really come to terms with, not properly. 

But it was time to deal with it all. 

Slowly, but surely - and minute by minute, like Sander has reassured him in the car. 

As if on cue, Sander’s name lit up on his phone screen.

_Wishing we could re-do this morning all over again._

_Your mouth, Robbe._

_It’s incredible._

Robbe glanced up and down the empty hallway, his cheeks burning red as he read Sander’s text.

_**Sander! I’m in school.** _

Sander’s reply was instantaneous.

_So?_

Robbe laughed. 

**_You’re insatiable._ **

Sander always texted back quickly, now.

_You love it._

Robbe chewed the corner of his lip, finding a new, unfamiliar confidence as he typed out his reply.

_**You can think about how I’m wearing your underwear, for the rest of the day - while I study.** _

Robbe could just imagine his boyfriends expression.

_You’re cruel, Robbe._

Robbe typed out one last reply before he pocketed his phone.

_**You love it.** _

It was hours later, when Robbe read Sander's reply, having put down a full day at school and endured far too much teasing from the boys about turning up to school head to toe in Sander’s clothes.

**I love you.**

Holding his phone close to his chest as he waited for his bus, Robbe smiled.

He normally hated January. His mama would always be sad, because Christmas was over - and school would always be harder.

But this year?

This year, January was going to be okay, Robbe decided.


	3. february

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sander could feel his depressive episode starting, this time. he hated when they came like this - quiet and unassuming, ready to fill his very veins with sluggish, tired sadness, ready to strip away every interesting aspect of his personality. february always was a hard month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> much of this chapter focuses on sander having a depressive episode, so proceed how you will!

**february**

  
_The day and time itself: late afternoon in early February, was there a moment of the year better suited for despair?_

Sander could feel his depressive episode starting, this time. He hated when they came like this - quiet and unassuming, ready to fill his very veins with sluggish, tired sadness, ready to strip away every interesting aspect of his personality.

The depressive episodes were the worst, Sander decided. When he was manic - he knew he could worry those around him, yes - but God, at least he felt good, like he could take on the world. He knew - he knew the manic episodes were dangerous, of course Sander knew that; but his brain wasn’t wired to recognise the danger of his mania when it was happening.

No, he only ever realised the danger of his own actions when it was over, and he was in the depths of his own depression, left alone with the consequences of the actions he had undertaken while he was manic.

It had been over a year now, since Sander had been diagnosed with bipolar, and so many years of uncertainty and unknown had come before that, his diagnosis a relief, at first, and then it had felt like a prison sentence, a constant reminder that Sander would live the rest of his life like this - starting each morning with a cocktail of pills that would reduce the ferocity of his ups and downs.

Mood stabilisers, first, Sander reminded himself, looking at the prescription pill bottles in front of him, his name printed neatly on the labels. They’d had to try two different mood stablisers, before they’d settled on the ones he was taking now, the pills minimising the likelihood of a manic episode bursting out of nowhere, like they had done before he had been diagnosed.

Mood stabilisers, and then some water.

Anti-depressants, next.

Sander liked those the least. Mood stabilisers had always felt as though they’d just numbed out the constant background noise of his mind - but the anti-depressants left him numb, felt like sometimes, they always took away the best and most interesting parts of him.

Logically, Sander knew that wasn’t true. If he didn’t take the anti-depressants, things would be far worse. There had been weeks at a time where he hadn’t been able to get out of bed, before.

But he was out of bed, now, standing in front of his bathroom mirror, taking his pills just like he was supposed to.

Anti-depressants, then water.

Antipsychotics were the last ones he had to take.

Those were new. 

They’d been prescribed after his episode in December. He still wasn’t quite sure what they were supposed to do, but he hadn’t been taking them for long enough, yet. Three months, and then they would reassess, that’s what his doctor had said. 

Forcing himself to drink the rest of his water to get rid of the metallic taste that always lingered in his mouth after he took his pills, Sander carefully zipped the three bottles back into the bag his mother had bought him, knowing it would be near impossible to ever convince Sander to stop staying over at Robbe’s house - this way, he would remember his medication, at least.

He was trying his best to be good, about his bipolar, now - for himself, of course, but Robbe too, knowing how sincerely Robbe cared, how supportive he was, and how Robbe would never ask if Sander had taken his pills, never one to put his boyfriend under pressure, but always looking at him with a quiet, unassuming sort of concern Sander wasn’t sure he deserved.

Sander sort of felt he owed it to Robbe - and everyone else - to try, at least. 

Packing the bag into his backpack, Sander ran a hand through his messy blond hair, wincing as he realised just how grown out it was now, his natural dark brown hair showing more han he would like it to.

He wasn’t sure if he had the energy to dye it again, not today, but - maybe he could ask Robbe to help him.

(Sander was trying to get better at that too - asking for help, when he needed it.)

“Mama?” Sander called, poking his head into the home office where his mother was working, sketching up a new design for one of her clients. He’d gotten his love of art from his mother, for definite - hers had just manifested into a successful career in interior design, and Sander still had wild dreams of turning his thoughts into art for the rest of his life, and supporting himself with nothing but art, somehow.

“You’re ready early, darling,” Katrijn commented, turning in her desk chair.

“I’m going to stay with Robbe, tonight - we’ve got a party to go to, at one of his friends houses,” Sander explained, sitting on the edge of her desk. That was the agreement, they had - Katrijn would never try and limit Sander’s social life, just as long as she had a vague idea of where he would be.

“You look tired,” Katrijn hummed, looking worried.

“I am, a little,” Sander admitted. “But not because I haven’t been sleeping.”

“Are you feeling okay?” his mother was immediately concerned.

“I’m feeling a little low,” Sander admitted, picking at a loose thread in his trousers. “Nothing crazy, just - a little low. Maybe it’s the new medication.”

“You don’t know that, love,” Katrijn reminded, giving Sander’s knee a squeeze. “You have to give them a fair chance, and then tell your doctor how you feel when you see him for your appointment next month.”

“I know,” Sander agreed, chest feeling tight as he spoke. “I just sometimes wish it didn’t have to be this hard.”

Katrijn gave him a sympathetic look. “Do you really feel up to a party?”

Sander nodded. “It’s better to not spend the day alone in my room,” he said. “Plus, Robbe is excited.”

Katrijn gestured for Sander to lean in, pressing a kiss to Sander’s cheek. “Take care, darling,” she said. “Oh! And say it to Robbe about Lotte’s birthday party, please - she’d be so glad to have him there.”

Sander nodded. “I will,” he gave his mother a quick hug, slinging his bag across his chest properly, calling another goodbye as he stepped outside into the brisk February air. It wasn’t as dull now, as January had been, the days a little brighter, but it was still bitterly cold, and Sander quickly pulled his hat and gloves on before he unlocked his bike, urging his legs to work as they were supposed to, one pedal at a time.

One pedal at a time, and minute by minute.

Robbe’s advice helped, a lot.

Sander had always struggled with thinking too far ahead into the future, thinking of the life he was supposed to be building amongst the unpredictable mania of his mind, and it felt good to be with someone who didn’t expect long-term plans of him, especially on days like this. 

Minute by minute was enough. 

Robbe was already waiting outside his apartment building, when Sander pulled up to the pavement, his boyfriend giving him one of those familiar, gorgeous smiles of his, all soft and endearing and the kind of smile Sander wanted to drown in.

“Hi,” Robbe greeted, wrapping his arms around Sander’s neck, kissing him softly. Sander couldn’t help but admire his boyfriends confidence, the way he kissed Sander when he picked him up from school, or from home.

“Hi,” Sander echoed, nuzzling his face in Robbe’s neck.

“You okay?” Robbe inquired.

Sander nodded. “Just, a low day,” he admitted, chest loosening as Robbe didn’t look at him in the same concerned way everyone else did when he said that.

“What would help?” Robbe asked, eager to learn, as always.

Sander couldn’t help but smile, a little. “I really, really need to dye my hair,” he admitted, gesturing at his overgrown roots. “And I don’t know if I have the energy to do it alone.”

Robbe’s brow was furrowed, as he tugged a hand through Sander’s hair. “I can help,” he said. “It can’t be that hard, can it?”

“No, it’s not,” Sander agreed. “But we need to get some things, if we’re going to do it today.”

Robbe nodded, rooting in his pocket. “I brought my bike keys,” he reassured, zipping his jacket to his chin, Sander only now noticing that Robbe was wearing a jumper of his, one stolen during a quiet morning when Robbe had stayed over, a few weeks previously, the pale pink a shocking contrast to his boyfriends dark hair.

“Can we bake, too?” Sander suddenly inquired.

He never really understood the reasoning behind his craving to do certain things, when he was feeling low - but Robbe had asked what would help, and Sander all of a sudden just really, really wanted to make some cookies.

Robbe laughed. “I could learn how to bake today,” he said, good-naturedly. “You’ll have to be in the lead, though.”

Sander thinks he’d probably lead Robbe anywhere - and he’d follow him anywhere, too.

But that was too big a thought for a bad brain day.

“That’s fine,” Sander laughed, accepting the kiss Robbe offered before they started to cycle, heading for Robbe’s local shopping centre.

The cold air whipped up around them, turning Sander’s cheeks icy cold and pink, even in the short time they were cycling.

“So, where to first?” Robbe inquired as they locked their bikes together, his boyfriend tucking a hand into the pocket of Sander’s jacket, giving him a cheeky look.

“Kruidvat,” Sander decided, leading Robbe into the busy store, scanning the shelves for the bleach he normally used, picking up two boxes, to be sure, and grabbing some purple shampoo as he went, Robbe watching him make his choices with interest.

“You don’t have that much hair,” Robbe teased, as they got in the queue, distracted by the so-called aisle of doom within a few seconds, interested hands picking out a packet of sweets, and then a drink - and then a candle, Sander unable to do anything but laugh.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Sander laughed, pressing a kiss to Robbe’s shoulder. “I just love you, that’s all.”

“I love you,” Robbe beamed, hand darting out for a second packet of sweets. “Study fuel!” he defended, ushering Sander ahead of him to pay first, still distracted by the various things on offer next to him.

Sander paid for his dye quickly, hovering outside the shop as he waited to pay, Robbe clutching a bag as he stepped outside, his cheeks flushed. “What’s wrong?”

“I remembered that we had run out of condoms,” Robbe explained, in an adorable almost stage whisper. “And the weird judgemental lady served me!”

Sander snorted. “Thanks for thinking of them,” he murmured, slinging an arm around Robbe’s shoulder. 

Robbe waggled his eyebrows in what was, quite frankly, a comical fashion. “Sort of benefits me, too.”

Sander was slowly, but surely, deciding this stage of their relationship was his favourite. The first few weeks had been so new, and exciting, and Sander would never forget the completely heart-melting, endearing way Robbe had been so nervous, and curious, all at the same time - but this, the phase of their relationship they were in now, where they were so familiar, Robbe so confident in himself, and what he wanted? 

That was the best.

Grabbing a basket as they entered Delhaize, Sander nudged Robbe. “Do you need other groceries?” he inquired.

“Just milk, I think,” Robbe said. “Mama made us pasta, before she went to work.”

Robbe’s mama was definitely the best.

Sander nodded, reaching for a packet of dried raspberries, tossing them into the basket, guiding Robbe toward the baking aisle, scanning the shelves for the ingredients he needed.

Flour, chocolate, sugar, vanilla.

There was something sort of therapeutic, about things like this - there was a method, and an end product, and sometimes, Sander liked that sort of boring, methodological work.

“I’ve never baked before,” Robbe admitted.

“We used to make cookies every Sunday, with my grandmother - me and my sisters,” Sander explained, remembering those days they’d spend at his grandmothers, elbow deep in dough as she’d explain how best to make a good cookie. “It was our tradition, I guess, before she died. Our parents would come and pick us up, and we’d be exhausted, from eating sugar.”

Robbe smiled. “That sounds nice.”

“It was,” Sander said, adding an extra bar of chocolate to their basket, for good measure. “Maybe it can be our tradition.”

“Dying your hair and making cookies, you mean?” Robbe raised an eyebrow.

Sander smiled, a bigger smile than he’d thought he’d be able to muster, that day. “Yup,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if its silly - it can still be a tradition.”

Robbe returned his smile. “Okay, it’s a tradition then.”

Sander was watching Robbe carefully from his position on the edge of Robbe’s bathtub, wearing a grubby old t-shirt of Robbe’s, eyebrow raised as he watched Robbe read the instructions for the thousandth time.

“Robbe, it’s not rocket science.”

“I know, I just don’t want to make you bald!” Robbe defended, pulling on the provided gloves, Sander having had already mixed up the bleach.   
“You just have to make sure you get all my hair,” Sander advised. “And then we time it. Easy!”

Robbe nodded, dipping the brush in the bleach, gentle hands moving Sander’s hair this way and that as he coated Sander’s hair in the dye, music playing tinnily from Robbe’s phone as he worked, some indie band Sander didn’t recognise filling the bathroom with sound.

“Who sings this?” Sander inquired, hands on the backs of Robbe’s thighs as his boyfriend leaned unsteadily over Sander’s head, making sure he got every piece of dark hair.

“Dermot Kennedy,” Robbe replied, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth from the effort.

“Who?”  
“Dermot Kennedy,” Robbe repeated. “I don’t know much about him, really - but Zoë likes him a lot. It’s calming music, right?”

Sander nodded. “It's chill.”

“It's chill,” Robbe confirmed, still carefully coating Sander’s hair in bleach. 

“How is Zoë?” Sander inquired, thinking of Robbe’s former flatmate. He liked her a lot - she had always been kind to him, and they’d even gone for coffee, the three of them (and Milan, sometimes) a few times over the last two months.

“Okay, I think,” Robbe said. “She seems very sure of her decision to break up with Senne, and that’s what matters, I guess.”

“Why did she break up with him again?”

“She felt like she needed to do her growing up without him, I think - that it had all been too intense,” Robbe shrugged. “It makes sense, no? They moved in together like, a month, after they started dating.”

Sander was quiet, for a second. “Do you think things between us are too intense?”

Robbe shook his head, without a moment of hesitation. “No,” he said. “Maybe - maybe it was for the first couple of weeks, but I don’t think it is now. Why - do you?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“No,” Sander said softly. “But I know I can be intense.”

“In a good way.”

“And bad ways.”

“Mostly good ways,” Robbe argued, setting the brush aside, taking a second to set the timer on his phone before he continued. “And I think we’re good at this, being in a relationship because we still have our own lives outside of each other. And Milan says that's a good thing.”

“Well, if your guru says it,” Sander teased.

“I regret telling you that, you know,” Robbe rolled his eyes, peeling the bleach-covered gloves off, wincing at the feeling of the plastic against his skin.

“I think it’s sweet, actually, how close you and Milan have become,” Sander said, waiting for Robbe to finish washing his hands before he tugged him toward the kitchen, all their ingredients laid out on the counter. 

“Yeah?”

Sander nodded. “It’s important, to have a friend who understands what it’s like to be LGBT - and someone who isn’t your boyfriend,” he added quickly.

Robbe inclined his head slightly, nodding. “That’s true, Milan is a good friend,” he said. “Though he forces me to have too many uncomfortable conversations about safe sex for me to ever tell him that to his face.”

Sander laughed. “He cares,” he said, weighing out the flour carefully. “I think he gives you all the advice he wishes he’d gotten when he had first come out.”

“True,” Robbe agreed. “But you also didn’t have to sit through the conversation he forced me to have before I left to meet you at the hotel.”

Sander raised an eyebrow. “What about?”

“Milan is very good at getting me to tell him things I don’t want to, and when he found out that it would be - well, that I expected it would be my first time,” he clarified, giving Sander an endearingly awkward smile. “We had a thorough conversation about the many benefits of lube and how four fingers were better than three, and I have never wanted to die more.”

Sander laughed, proper belly-laughed, one that he hadn’t expected to be possible when he’d woken up that morning. “It’s good advice.”

Robbe fixed him with a deadly glare. “There are some conversations I am okay with having with you, but I definitely don’t need to have with my friends,” he said. “Aaron cornering me the other morning to ask me about anal sex was worse, though.”

Sander snorted, gesturing for Robbe to pass him the eggs. “That must have been a nice start to your morning.”

Robbe sighed, absently reaching for a piece of the chocolate Sander had carefully broken up for the cookies, giving Sander a deeply offended look as he swatted Robbe’s hand away.

“That’s been measured!”

“No, it hasn’t!”

“Yes, it has,” Sander corrected. “There are 100 grams of chocolate in that bar, and if you eat any, it won’t be the right weight, and then you will have completely ruined our cookies, Robbe.”

Robbe raised an eyebrow, hand still hovering over the apparently very tempting chocolate. “I feel like that’s a dramatic response,” he countered, a cheeky expression settling on his face. More and more, Sander was getting to see this side of Robbe - the side that was comfortable enough around Sander to show all the unexpected parts of himself.

That was the best thing about being in love, Sander supposed - learning all about the person you’d been so intrigued by, you had to have them.

“Robbe, I take my cookies very seriously,” Sander threatened, good-naturedly. “Step away from the chocolate, and pre-heat the oven.”

Robbe looked at him, entirely confused. “Pre-heat?”

“Oh, Robbe,” Sander sighed, realising he was really about to go back to basics. “ _How_ have you managed to make it the sixteen?”

  
Despite Sander’s best convincing, Robbe was not one bit willing to have a shared shower with him (“Sander, you have your own bathroom - I have to share this one with my mama, and I’d like to be able to look her in the eyes for the rest of my life!”), and so Sander had been left to his own devices to wash the bleach off, poking around the slowly familiar bottles kept in Robbe’s shower.

He’d left some of his own stuff there, of course. Sander - well, bright white hair took some specific maintenance - but he could help but reach for the shower gel he knew was Robbe’s, one bought from the supermarket, the label declaring it was pear and apple scented.

The most annoying thing about having Robbe as a boyfriend was that he didn’t particularly care, what sort of shower gel, or cologne he used, buying all sorts of random scents. Selfishly, Sander wanted there to be one specific thing that would remind him of boyfriend, on those days they were apart - and the entire personal care aisle of Delhaize didn’t exactly narrow it down.

Making a mental note to try convince Robbe he needed to find one scent and stick with it, mostly for Sander’s sake, Sander washed off the last of the purple toning shampoo he’d bought, towelling his body and hair dry as he stepped out of the shower.

Clearing away some of the steam so he could look in the mirror, Sander couldn’t help but grin.

Robbe had done a good job.

Sander slowly got dressed again, stepping back out into the wonderfully smelling kitchen, still drying his hair. “It smells good,” he commented, realising Robbe had put the pasta bake his mama had prepared for the two of them in the oven, careful fingers still tracing the instructions his mama had left on a post-it-note.

Everything about Robbe was careful, and Sander meant that in the very best way. Robbe - he was careful with everyone around him, in ways most of them probably didn’t deserve, conscious of everyone’s struggles before he was ever really properly conscious of his own.

That wasn’t so good, really, but Robbe was slowly learning to be less guarded, and Sander always felt equal parts overwhelmed and honoured that he was the person Robbe was opening up to.

Robbe nodded, not turning around yet, fiddling with the dial on the oven. “I figured it would be good to eat dinner, before we have the cookies,” he said, melting chocolate mixing with the smell of melting cheese in a way that shouldn’t have been as appealing as it was.

“Who says?” Sander raised an eyebrow. “Sweet before savoury, is what I say.”

Robbe turned around, rolling his eyes. “It’s a wonder you don’t have diabetes,” he commented, smiling to himself. “Your hair looks good.”

“It does,” Sander hummed in agreement, stepping in-between Robbe’s legs, his boyfriend leaning against the kitchen counter. “You did a good job.”

“Maybe I’ve missed my calling as a hairdresser,” Robbe joked, arms looped loosely around Sander’s waist, careful fingers messing with the hem of Sander’s t-shirt, fingers cold against Sander’s bare skin.

Robbe was always so cold.

“Probably not,” Sander said, running a hand through Robbe’s messy hair. “But I do think we should dye your hair next.”

Robbe pulled a face. “Dye my hair?” he didn’t seem convinced. “I don’t think I could pull off your hair colour,” he said, shaking his head. “I also don’t think my mama would approve.”

“I don’t think you could do the white,” Sander agreed, tugging at the roots of Robbe’s hair. “Blue, maybe.”  
“Absolutely not!”

“Green?”

“You’re just being annoying, now,” Robbe warned, still smiling. “I think boring brown is what suits me.”

“It’s not boring,” Sander disagreed, almost feeling his brain tick over into that space where all it wanted to do was draw, the strands of Robbe’s hair familiar under his fingertips. “It does defy gravity, though,” he said.

Robbe laughed. “There’s just a lot of it there,” he said. “I need to get it cut.”

“Why?”

“It gets really curly, when it gets longer,” Robbe explained, shaking his head slightly, so hair moved, falling into his eyes.

“I can imagine you with curly hair,” Sander murmured. “You’d look like a Greek god, I think.”

Robbe poked at Sander’s nose. “I would not.”

“You would,” Sander disagreed. “Robbe, do you even look in the mirror every morning? How you’ve walked around with this face for sixteen years and not had every person you’ve ever met fall in love with you is baffling to me.”

Robbe laughed, the kind of laugh that looked as though it came right from his toes, filling every vein and pore in his body with happiness. “I think you might be the only one who thinks that.”

“Then I am the only correct person in the entire world,” Sander declared, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of Robbe’s mouth. “And I’m the luckiest, because I get to have you.”

“Sander,” Robbe said, in that same, overwhelmed, awed way he had during those first few weeks of their relationship, as though he was still completely astounded that someone like Sander wanted him like this.

Sander thinks he would probably spend the rest of his life proving to Robbe just how much he wanted him - how his want for Robbe sometimes felt like it consumed every single part of him, filling in every old, lonely, dark and empty space of his body and turning Sander inside out, and into someone new.

Someone worthy of Robbe.

(Sander knows that’s probably the best thing he could be, in his life - a person worthy of Robbe.)

Sander couldn’t quite find the right words to vocalise those feelings, so instead, he leaned in and kissed Robbe, properly this time, lips moving against his boyfriend in a way that felt so familiar and so new and overwhelming, all at once. Robbe always felt so malleable in his hands, soft and pliant and easily led by Sander, clinging to Sander’s waist as he stepped back from the kitchen counter, leading them both toward the couch, Sander easily trapping Robbe underneath his taller form.

He liked this moment best, Sander decided - when he’d push Robbe back on a bed, or a couch, and Robbe would keep his eyes closed, just for a second or two, a look of complete bliss on his face before he opened his eyes and looked up at Sander, endeared and overwhelmed and curious, always so curious, brown hair, just beginning to curl at the ends, stark against the pale green of the pillows of the couch.  
Without a second though, Robbe had spread his legs a little wider, giving Sander space to lie down properly, knees bracketing Sander’s hips. 

“How long more does the pasta need?” Sander asked, teeth grazing against Robbe’s neck. 

“Um - twenty minutes, I think,” Robbe said, looking as though he needed to really think about his answer. 

Sander nodded, feeling Robbe already hard against him as he ground down against his boyfriend, and he, he -

Nothing.

Sander couldn’t help but freeze as he realised, embarrassment rising in his cheeks, tucking his burning face into the crook of Robbe’s shoulder. It took Robbe a second to realise Sander had stopped moving, had stopped kissing him, and he tugged at Sander, bringing them nose to nose.

“What’s wrong?” Robbe asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

Sander could feel tears welling up in his eyes as he tried to find the words, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Robbe.”

“What for?” 

He sort of wished the ground would open up and swallow him.

“I…” Sander trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “I can’t.”

Thankfully, realisation dawned on Robbe. “Oh. Oh! I, uh - I mean, is it me?” 

“No! No, definitely not,” Sander shook his head. “It’s - it’s a fun side affect of me taking my medication,” he admitted, Robbe not letting him pull back in the slightest, cradling Sander close. “The - the anti-depressants can mess with my body in more ways than one.”

Robbe nodded slowly, letting Sander’s explanation sink in before he replied. “Okay,” he said. “It happens, right? Even when you’re not on medication.”

“Yeah, when you’re old.”

“Or, when you’re not in the mood,” Robbe shrugged, messing with the collar of Sander’s t-shirt. “You’ve been taking your anti-depressants for weeks now, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

Robbe looked at him, as if the answer were blindingly obvious. “This is the first time it’s happened.”

Sander couldn’t help but laugh, a little, realising Robbe was correct. “That’s true,” he conceded. “I just - you shouldn’t have to deal with this, Robbe, it’s - you’re sixteen and you’re supposed to like, have sex with your boyfriend on his couch on a Saturday,.”

Robbe shrugged, shaking his head. “Do you think that’s the only reason why I’m with you?” he asked. “For the physical stuff?”  
Sander stayed quiet.

“The physical stuff is great, Sander - trust me, it’s really great,” Robbe reassured. “But it’s not all I need from you.”

“I know, but -“

“No buts,” Robbe said firmly.

“I could still get you off,” Sander offered, unable to shake his discomfort.

“Nope! We’re going to lie here and cuddle until the pasta is done,” Robbe refused, wrapping his arms around Sander’s shoulders. “And make out a little.”

“A lot,” Sander countered.

Robbe grinned. “A lot, then,” he hummed. “And then we’ll eat all the food we’re making, and feel really disgusting and full.”

“Sexy.”

“I try to be,” Robbe said hooking his ankles around the backs of Sander’s legs, making sure he couldn’t go anywhere, cold hands sneaking under Sander’s shirt. 

“That’s mean,” Sander mumbled into the curve of Robbe’s jaw, squirming as his boyfriend refused to relent, cold hands fully under Sander’s shirt now, sending the least fun kind of shivers down Sander’s spine.

“What’s a boyfriend for if not to be a human hot water bottle?” Robbe joked, closing the space between them and kissing Sander, long, and slow, and lazy, no expectation or demand behind his action - just, a desire to be as physically close as the two of them could be, their mouths barely an inch apart even as Robbe pulled back to catch his breath.

“I love you,” Sander breathed, Robbe smiling as he felt the words against his skin, a physical manifestation of a phrase that was so new to his vocabulary. 

Kissing him briefly, Robbe replied. “I love you.”

  
Embarrassment long forgotten, Sander wasn’t quite sure there was anything better than a good old-fashioned make out, his jaw cramping and lips sore from the amount of time he and Robbe had spent kissing for the sake of kissing, Sander wrapped up in his boyfriends arms as Robbe had mapped every inch of his mouth, and neck, and face.

Robbe’s lips were kiss bitten and sore as Sander glanced across the kitchen table, chewing on the slightly burnt pasta they’d saved from the oven just in time.

“I think you can never grow a beard,” Sander declared, Robbe giving him a questioning look. “I’d get horrible beard burn.”

“Oh, like you have me when you refused to shave for like three weeks after Christmas?” Robbe countered. “That was just fluff and I still had to go to school with a bright red face for days!”

Sander laughed. “Okay, we agree then, no beards.”

“No beards,” Robbe agreed. “But _more_ pasta.”

The party was loud. So very, very loud. Honestly, Sander was impressed that Jana was willing to throw parties like this when she had neighbours - he was fairly certain that if he ever threw a party like this, his neighbours would call the police within the hour, but apparently not in Jana’s case.

Desperate for some quiet, Sander weaved his way through the crowd, passing by the competitive game of beer pong Robbe was playing, Robbe and Moyo versus Jens and Aaron, and heading for the kitchen, easing the door shut behind him.

He could still feel the bass of the music vibrating under his feet, but it was quiet enough for Sander to feel like he was getting the breather he needed. He never wanted to be the reason why Robbe didn’t go to parties, or see his friends, and so even though his brain wasn’t exactly feeling it, Sander had been determined they come.

It was important.

Conscious of still not being quite used to his new medication, Sander filled a glass of water, leaning against the counter. 

Being sensible was always so boring.

Sander had a few minutes of peace before the kitchen door swung open, a laughing Jens stumbling through the door, Jana in tow. 

“Hi,” Sander greeted, pulling the two of them out of their own world.

“Sander!” Jens grinned, clearly drunk as shit as he swung an arm around Sander, hugging him. “You good, man?”

“All good,” Sander reassured. “I just needed a break from the noise.”

“Well, you missed your boyfriend completely trashing Jens and Aaron at beer pong,” Jana explained, reaching around Sander for an unopened bottle of vodka, surprisingly steady on her feet given the amount of alcohol she’d drank. 

“It’s only because Aaron is so bad!” Jens shook his head, kicking the kitchen door shut. Jens was a bit more empathetic than Sander had initially given Robbe’s best friend credit for, and he gave Jens a grateful smile.

“One shot to go,” Jana dramatised, swinging her arms wildly. “And Robbe makes it in one! It was amazing Sander, really.”

Jens laughed good-naturedly. “It was,” he agreed. “God, Sander, man - I’m so glad Robbe met you.”

Sander raised an eyebrow. “You are?”

Jens nodded furiously. “Before - before you, he was always holding something back, and none of us really knew what it was, but we do now, and he was hiding, you know? And since he met you, I don’t know, man. It’s like he’s free.”

Jana nodded her agreement. “I’ve never seen Robbe this happy. Even - even when all the shit was happening between you two, he was still happier. Right, Jens?”

“Right,” Jens said, on cue. “I’ve known Robbe my whole life, man, and it feels like I’m really only properly getting to know him now, and it’s because of you. We’re all - we’re all really happy he found you.”

Before Sander realised what was happening, he was being squashed into the middle of a Jana and Jens sandwich, both of them squeezing him tightly, leaving Sander no room to move to respond - or escape. “Uh, thanks, I think?” he tried, looking between Robbe’s two very drunk friends.

As if on cue, the kitchen door opened again, Robbe and Moyo stumbling in, Moyo laughing as they took in the scene in front of them. “What is happening?” Robbe asked, completely confused.

“We’re telling Sander how much we love him,” Jens mumbled, Jana humming her agreement.

“Uh, okay,” Robbe was laughing now. “Are you going to let go of him any time soon?”

“Maybe.”

“No. You get to have him all the time, Robbe, don’t hoard Sander.”

Robbe was hysterical, now, Moyo doubled over as he laughed. “I think maybe you’ve hugged him enough,” he tried, tugging at Jens’ arm, instead being dragged into the strange group hug. “Jens, come on!”

“We love you too, Robbe,” Jens grinned, pressing a kiss to Robbe’s forehead. “Okay, now pass the vodka.”

“Vodka!” Jana yelled, grabbing the bottle as they pulled away from Sander and Robbe, the two of them heading back into the throng of people at the party.

Moyo rolled his eyes, still laughing. “Those two,” he murmured, glancing over Sander and Robbe. “They are right, though - we are glad to have you around Sander, man,” he said, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. “Mostly because Robbe isn’t a grumpy bastard anymore -“

“Hey!”

“But you’re a good guy, Sander,” Moyo finished, giving a mock salute. “I’m going to go trash Aaron at beer pong again, if you want to join.”

Robbe glanced at Sander, doing that thing where it was as though he could read Sander’s mind. “I’ll sit this round out,” he said. “Count us in for the next one?”

Moyo nodded, stepping back out of the kitchen, leaving them alone.

“Having fun?” Robbe inquired, tilting his chin so he was looking at Sander properly. 

“Always, with you,” Sander hummed, kissing Robbe gently. “Jens and Jana are something.”

Robbe snorted. “They’re more alike than they realise sometimes, I think,” he said. “Maybe that’s why things didn’t work out between them.”

“You think?”

Robbe shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “I’m not an expert. But - you and I balance each other out, I think, in ways we wouldn’t if we were more similar.”

Sander tugged him close. “I think you’re probably right.”

They stood, in silence for a few minutes, before Robbe spoke again.

“Do you want to play beer pong?” he inquired. “Jens and Moyo like to think they’re unbeatable, but I think we could beat them - and I’ll drink all the beer, so you don’t have to.”

Sander laughed. “Go on then, let’s play.”

Robbe grinned, taking Sander by the hand and tugging him into the midst of the party, cornering Moyo and Jens. “You’re going down, both of you,” he warned, so serious Sander had to laugh.

He could still feel the heavy tug of a depressive episode beginning, the sluggish feeling still lingering in his veins, inevitable in its onslaught - but for tonight, at least, Sander could be okay.

That was enough.

  
His depressive episode had hit him like a tonne of bricks, this time, knocking Sander for six and giving Robbe a real glimpse of what his depressive episodes looked like - days of silence, of Robbe sitting downstairs with Sander’s mama, and sister, days of Sander refusing to change clothes, or turn a light on, or do anything, really, refusing to see Robbe, to answer his calls, or texts.

He simply couldn’t.

It was probably five days in, when Sander broke - _six_ , maybe, he wasn’t so sure - Robbe arriving late one evening, not even suggesting he turn a light on when he entered Sander’s room, socked feet barely making any noise as he crossed Sander’s bedroom, easing himself under the covers next to Sander, seemingly not caring about how gross and in need of a wash the sheets - and Sander - were.

“We don’t have to talk,” Robbe said, voice quiet. “But I’m staying. And you can try and push me away all you want, Sander, but I’m staying.”

Sander hadn’t realised he was crying until he spoke. “Okay,” he managed to choke out, voice hoarse from not having been used for days.

“Okay,” Robbe echoed, wrapping his arms protectively around Sander, holding him tight enough for Sander to feel like maybe - maybe - Robbe could help him out of the deep, dark hole he’d found himself in, February dull and lifeless around him, the promise of spring doing nothing to ease the sadness that filled every part of his body, there and then.

Letting his tears home, Sander held onto Robbe’s wrist, repeating the word one more time. “Okay.”

It was day eight when Robbe convinced him to have a bath.

Maybe - maybe it should have felt strange, to have Robbe take care of him the way he was, but Sander was helpless to do anything except accept it. He’d silently sat at his desk as Robbe had determinedly stripped Sander’s bed of the gross sheets, bundling them into Sander’s laundry hamper before taking Sander’s hand and leading him to the bathroom, Sander frozen in place as Robbe ran a bath for him, endearingly clueless as he poured a random combination of gels and oils into the steaming water.

Maybe, if he was more himself, Sander would have felt embarrassed at the way Robbe stripped him out of his grubby pyjamas without blinking an eyelid, helping Sander into the bath.

But Sander wasn’t himself - that was the point, really.

“It’s a good thing I did such a great job of dying your hair,” Robbe commented, jumper rolled to his elbows, crouched beside the bath as he massaged shampoo into Sander’s hair.

The depressive episodes were bad, Sander knew that much - but slowly coming out of them sometimes felt worse, because his emotions seemed to return with full force, tears he hadn’t been able to cry before there pouring down his face as Robbe gently washed the shampoo away, using a glass that had been full of water for days, Sander unable to even force himself to drink.

“I’m sorry,” Sander sobbed, hugging his knees to his chest, water sloshing over the side of the bath. “I’m so sorry, Robbe.”

“Hey, hey - Sander, look at me,” Robbe was tugging on his chin, a kind expression on his face. “What are you sorry about?”

“This - all of this!” Sander was on the verge of hysterical, now. “You didn’t sign up for this.”

“I signed up for you,” Robbe said, completely drenched now, practically half in the bath as he reassured Sander. 

“Not the ugly parts.”

“Good, and bad - and ugly, though you could never be ugly,” Robbe teased gently. “I signed up for _you_ , Sander. I love you, and I want to be there for you. So please - don’t be sorry. Just, let me help you, okay?”

Sander was still crying, but he nodded, hoping his face conveyed just how grateful he was for Robbe - there and then, and always.  
Robbe returned the nod, reaching for another bottle. “Conditioner now, right?” he said, the question not really a question at all. “And then you’re getting a Robbe Ijzermans hot towel shave.”

Sander choked out a half-laugh, half sob. “A what?”

“Basically, I’m going to shave all this gross fluff away,” Robbe said, tugging at Sander’s chin. “And then cover your face with a hot cloth and we can all pretend like I did it properly. Sound good?”

Sander blinked away the worst of his tears, blurry Robbe returning to focus. “Sounds good.”

  
It was nearing the end of February when Sander started to feel human again. That wouldn’t have been so bad, really - he'd had longer depressive episodes before - but it did mean he’d missed Valentine’s Day.

Their _**first**_.

As if Sander needed more reasons to hate his stupid, broken brain.

( _His therapist wouldn’t be happy with that choice of words_.)

Still.

Their first Valentine’s Day had felt important, and Sander had, back before his depressive episode had crept up on him like a familiar and unwelcome friend, hoped to give Robbe the most wonderful Valentine’s Day he could come up with. Robbe - he hadn’t experienced enough romance in his life, and Sander wanted to give him all of it, and more.

Hence why he was standing outside a fancy restaurant in the centre of Antwerp, holding a bunch of flowers, wearing his nicest jeans - and a shirt, and a blazer, one usually reserved for family occasions - waiting for Robbe to arrive.

His adorably confused boyfriend arrived a few minutes later, clearly wearing an outfit Milan had forced him into, Sander raising an eyebrow at the fact Robbe, of all people, was wearing a button-up shirt.

“Hi,” Robbe greeted slowly. “What - what’s happening?”

“We missed Valentine’s Day, because of -“

“Sander, no, we asked about this - you can’t blame yourself!” 

Sander laughed. “Yes, but that is why we missed Valentine’s Day,” he countered. “So I wanted to do it over. A little late, sure, but it’s our first Valentine’s Day, and it feels worth celebrating, still.”

Robbe smiled softly. “No one’s ever bought me flowers before,” he admitted, looking at the flowers in Sander’s hands.

“I’m glad to be the first,” Sander returned the smile, kissing Robbe before handing him the flowers. “Now, Mr Ijzermans - we’ve got a reservation for seven, and you look too good in that outfit not to show you off,” he said, offering Robbe an elbow.

Robbe laughed, holding tightly to Sander’s arm. “Lead the way, then.”

Robbe’s hand was cold in his, a feeling Sander was getting startlingly familiar with, using both hands to try and warm Robbe’s as they came to a slow stop, Robbe looking at him, confused.

“I have one other surprise,” Sander admitted.

“Sander, no - not after dinner!” Robbe exclaimed, shaking his head. He’d been stunned into silence at Sander’s choice of restaurant, the two of them talking and laughing for hours in a corner of the restaurant, Sander’s ankle hooked over Robbe’s. 

“Let me - let me finish, yeah?” Sander pleaded. “You can say no, and I won’t be offended, but I…… I wanted to replace the memories of the hotel, with something new,” he tried to explain, gesturing at the hotel they were standing in front of. “So, I booked us a room.”

“Sander.”

“I just - that night Robbe, it didn’t go how I wanted it to, and I don’t want that to always be the only time we stayed somewhere together.”

“Sander,” Robbe’s voice was gentle. “How do you think I remember that evening?”

Sander looked at him confused. “Badly?”

Robbe shook his head. “Sander, I - that night means so much to me,” he said, cheeks pink with the memory. “I don’t need to replace the memories with _anything_.”

“But I -“

“Had a manic episode, sure,” Robbe interrupted softly. “That bit wasn’t great, okay. But the rest? I _never_ , **ever** want to forget. Why would I want to forget my first time with you? And second, actually,” he said, mouth quirking up at the corners. 

Sander didn’t really know how to feel, if he was being honest.

“So - so you don’t want to stay here?”

Robbe glanced at the hotel. “I _definitely_ want to,” he shook his head. “Not as a replacement for anything else, though. As - as something new.”

Sander nodded. “A new tradition, then?”

Robbe beamed, his smile splitting his face from ear, to ear. “A new tradition,” he agreed, careful not to crush his flowers as he leaned in to kiss Sander softly. “I love you, Sander.”

Sander melted into Robbe’s touch, filled with every shade of emotion from gratitude, to love, and all the ones that came in-between, all the ones he'd never even really known, before he met Robbe. “I love you too, Robbe.”

February was over. Cold, early spring days were slowly turning to a warmer March, and February was nearly over, and Sander was so in love he felt like the emotion was going to burst out of his body, overwhelming and exciting and new and all sorts of wonderful, even amongst the bad days that came, unapologetic in the way they’d drag Sander down.

February was nearly over, and Sander was spending the last day of it holed up in an overpriced hotel room, Robbe wearing a ridiculously fluffy hotel robe, trying to balance a spoon on his nose as Sander laughed, the kind of laughter that had felt impossible, only a few weeks previously, laughter that was threatening to have him fall out of the plush hotel bed they were sitting on.

February was over, and for the first time - Sander was quite sad to realise how quickly time was passing by, these days.

(He’d draw this later - Robbe grinning, spoon hanging off the end of his nose, looking sixteen, for once, the weight of the world gone from his shoulders and a smile on his face. Sander would draw it, and immortalise it, but that was for later. For now - for now he was with Robbe, and that was all that mattered, in the end.)


	4. march

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> march - march had felt a lot like a month of growth, sander and robbe growing into their relationship in a way that felt like it was being given more and more strength and purpose, and sander was grateful for it all, good and bad.

**march**

  
  


_ “March came in that winter like the meekest and mildest of lambs, bringing days that were crisp and golden and tingling, each followed by a frosty pink twilight which gradually lost itself in an elfland of moonshine.” _

  
  
  


Sander was fairly certain that Robbe IJzermans waking up in the morning was one of the wonders of the universe. He’d already been awake for a little while, brain buzzing with thought, but Robbe had stayed asleep, curled into Sander’s side like he’d always been there - and God, sometimes it felt like Robbe  _ had  _ always been there, had always been curled up next to Sander, filling in every gap and hole of Sander’s life and making him feel complete and whole in ways Sander found it hard to comprehend.

Robbe’s hair was growing out, a little, Sander noticed. His boyfriend had been complaining about it getting too long, and getting in the way, but Sander couldn’t pretend like he didn’t love it - love the way the brown strands were starting to curl at the ends, falling over Robbe’s forehead and making him look even more angelic than ever.

It was the sort of image Sander wanted (and did) draw a thousand times over, committing it memory so he would never forget this moment - and all the moments that came before and after, Robbe asleep in his arms and trusting Sander to take care of him, the trust so overwhelming and real and something Sander was sure he absolutely didn’t deserve, 

The short version of the mass of thoughts swirling around in his brain was that Sander liked to watch Robbe sleep.

Not for - well, not for any sort of weird, or creepy reason. It was mostly just because Robbe just looked so careful, and calm when he was sleeping, as though there wasn’t a single thing in the world that could worry him, and Sander liked when Robbe looked like that.

His boyfriend was, by his very nature, a worrier, and Sander knew it was because Robbe just cared so much about the people he loved, that love had to manifest somewhere, somehow.

But still.

He didn’t like when Robbe was stressed.

Sander couldn’t help but smile to himself as he watched Robbe stir, nose scrunching up adorably as he pushed his face into the pillow he was lying on, making himself as small as possible. Reaching out, Sander brushed a stray curl away from Robbe’s eyes, a tiny smile appearing on Robbe’s face.

“Are you watching me sleep?” Robbe asked, voice quiet and hoarse from a lack of use, thick with sleep and adorably gruff. Getting to know this side of Robbe, the one who would wake up confused and sleepy and sluggish until he had his first coffee of the day, was one of the very best things about being in a relationship, Sander decided.

No one else got to know Robbe like this, and it made the caveman-like, possessive side of Sander all too happy. Sander was old enough to know that none of that mattered, and really, it didn’t - but he couldn’t help but preen a little when he realised he was the only person in the world who knew a lot of sides of Robbe - the way he was so sleepy, when he first woke up, tired and pilant under Sander’s hands; the tiny moan he would pant out, almost involuntarily, when Sander would get his lips on Robbe’s neck, teeth grazing against pale skin in a promise of more; the way Robbe’s back would arch in the most beautifully poetic sort of way when Sander would get his hands on Robbe’s dick, the kind of movement Sander wanted to draw and film and capture in its absolute perfection so that he would remember it forever, remember how it was to watch as Robbe discovered a whole new side of himself and being the one by his side as Robbe embraced it all in ways that made Sander feel impossibly proud.

“Maybe,” Sander shrugged. “But that’s your fault, for being so impossibly adorable.”

Robbe opened one eye. “ _Adorable_? You make me sound like a cute cat you’ve adopted.”

Sander laughed. “You are adorable,” he repeated. “And gorgeous, and handsome, and ridiculously sexy. Better?”

Robbe’s eyes were closed again. “Maybe a little.”

Sander pressed a kiss to Robbe’s cheek, his boyfriend’s skin flush under his lips. “I could tell you all about what you do to me, if you’d prefer,” he said softly, brushing his lips slowly over Robbe’s. “About how you can turn me on just by looking at me. And how - how you take my breath away, every time I see you.”

“Shut up.” Robbe replied, eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

“It’s true,” Sander continued. “I see you, just waiting outside school for me, and I think - how did I get so lucky to have you fall in love with me?”

“Miracles,” Robbe mumbled.

“I think it probably was a miracle,” Sander replied. “You are more than I could have ever dreamed of, Robbe. I could spend the rest of my life drawing this beautiful face of yours and I’d never be able to do it justice - not really.”

“You do try, though.”

“I do,” Sander confirmed. “But the real thing is infinitely more beautiful.”

Robbe’s nose scrunched up again. “I can’t believe you’re calling me beautiful at nine am on a Sunday morning like it’s normal,” he mumbled.

“Why wouldn’t it be normal?”

Robbe opened his eyes for the first time in a few minutes. “You have looked in the mirror at some point in the last eighteen years of your life, right?”   


“Yes - so?”

“If anyone here is infinitely beautiful, it’s you,’ Robbe said, moving so they were practically nose to nose, now, Robbe’s hands finding their way underneath Sander’s shirt, hands somehow - despite the thick duvet on Sander’s bed, and the radiator in the corner - still cold.

“I think we can both be infinitely beautiful.”

“No, you are definitely a thousand times more attractive than I am,” Robbe shook his head. “I’m pretty sure anyone who sees us together must wonder how on earth I managed to get someone like you to date me.”

“That is the silliest thing I have ever heard,” Sander shook his head. “People need to open their eyes properly, if they don’t believe you’re the most beautiful person in all of Belgium.”

“Now you really are being dramatic.”

“Me? Never,” Sander teased. “I am only telling you the truth, schatje. Your dimples alone make you the most gorgeous man I have ever come across.”

Robbe laughed, then, dimples appearing on either side of his mouth, the image warming Sander right to his core. “Okay.”

“Okay? I’m declaring my undying love for your dimples, and all I get is okay?” Sander joked, taking hold of Robbe’s waist and rolling so Robbe was flat on his back, Sander straddling his waist. 

Robbe gave him a cheeky, defiant grin. “Okay.”

Sander shook his head, pushing Robbe’s hands up over his head, pinning them in place easily. Easily because Robbe wasn’t fighting him on it, Sander supposed - his boyfriend was deceptively strong. “Robbe, Robbe, Robbe,” he sighed dramatically, enjoying the slightly panicked look that appeared on Robbe’s face when Sander slowly, deliberately ground down against Robbe’s crotch.

Robbe was deliciously responsive at the best of times, but Sander, over the three or so months they had been together, was slowly discovering that Robbe was at his most pilant and eager in the morning, relaxed and desperate for Sander’s touch - and willing to let Sander do just about anything to him to get Sander’s hands where he wanted them.

Robbe swallowed thickly. “What are you going to do with me?” he asked, voice soft, but determined, all the same. 

Sander shrugged. “I could do this,” he said, as though he was wondering aloud, leaning in to drag his teeth lightly across the pale skin of Robbe’s neck, Robbe’s response a full body shiver, ankles tightening around Sander’s, willing the older boy closer.

“That is nice,” Robbe said, his voice unsteady.

“Hm.” Sander inclined his head, looking at Robbe carefully. “I think the point here is that you don’t get what you want, Robbe.”

Robbe fixed him with a confused look. “I feel like we want the same thing here, Sander.”

“Mm, maybe,” Sander kissed him, long and slow. “Or maybe not,” he contradicted himself, keeping a tighter grip of Robbe’s wrists. “Don’t move your hands.”

Sander could practically hear Robbe’s heartbeat thundering in his chest. 

“Don’t move my hands?” Robbe’s tone was questioning.

“We can stop, if you like,” Sander reassured, grinning slightly as he moved his hips against Robbe’s, his boyfriend already hard underneath him. 

“You know I don’t want to stop,” Robbe replied, fingers twitching under Sander’s grip. “I just - I just don’t really know what you’re going to do.”

“Do you want to talk it through?” Sander offered, all too aware of Robbe’s inexperience, at that moment.

Robbe shook his head. “No.”

“What do you want, then?” 

Robbe was quiet.

“Words, Robbe,” Sander said gently, letting go of Robbe’s wrists so he could cup Robbe’s face in his hands, pressing gentle kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his chin. “Use your words.”

Robbe rolled his eyes but relented. “I feel like maybe I have the basics down, now,” he admitted, chewing on the side of his lip, wrists still above his head. “But what if I’m really bad at like - the not so basic stuff?”

Sander did his best to swallow his life. “Robbe, you are absolutely not bad at sex,” he said. “I don’t think anyone can be bad at sex. It’s just about doing the things you like, right? So how could you be bad at that?”

Robbe’s cheeks were flaming red now. “But I don’t really know what I like.”

“I don’t believe that Mister ‘ _if you don’t fuck me in this shower right now, Sander, I will punch you_ ,’” Sander reminded, mind wandering back to the night they had spent in the hotel, memories the oddest mixture of crystal clear, and fuzzy, Sander slowly, but surely, coming to terms with that night in his own way, remembering the good for how good it was, and acknowleding the rest would just be what it was. 

Robbe shook his head. “That was different.”

“How? It was just you and me then, and it’s just you and me now,” Sander said. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, Robbe.”

Robbe was quiet, for a second - not the kind of quiet where he was refusing to speak, but the kind of quiet where he was clearly thinking. “I feel like sometimes you can give me a lot more than I can give you,” he admitted. 

“Why? Because I’ve been with more people than you?”

Robbe let out a shaky sigh. “Yes.”

“You know what the best thing about falling in love with someone is, Robbe?” Sander said, voice soft. “Figuring things out together. You and I, we’re just figuring out what we like with each other - and it’s exciting, but new, and it's unfamiliar, and it’s really overwhelming, and I get it.”

“You do?”

“Yes, Robbe,” Sander nodded. “You make me as nervous as I make you.”

Robbe looked up at him, wide eyes full of wonder. “I do?”

“Yes,” Sander said firmly. “I just want you so much I forget to be nervous, sometimes.”

Robbe laughed, that soft, quiet, familiar laugh Sander wasn’t sure he would ever get used to. “I can’t believe I make you nervous,” he admitted, cheeks still flushed red with embarrassment. 

“Believe it.”

Robbe nodded, movements slow. “So. I shouldn’t move my hands, then?”

Sander raised an eyebrow. “You sure? We can just lie here and make out until it’s socially unacceptable to be in bed.”

Robbe gave him what could only be described as a coy look, one that made Sander’s heart swoop down to his toes and back again. “Maybe I’m ready to figure out if I like this.”

Sander leaned in and kissed him, trying his best to pour his every emotion into the embrace - how grateful he was for Robbe’s trust in him, and how much he just wanted the younger boy, every moment of every day since the day he met him.

“Don’t move your hands, then.”

“Or what?”

Sander grinned. “We can figure that out, too.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Sander knew Robbe would never, ever let him, but if he could, Sander would love to take a photo of Robbe like this, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, eyes wide, and a blissful, fucked out look on his face. It was the kind of image that should be hung on a gallery wall, if you asked Sander - but then again, that would mean sharing this side of Robbe, and Sander had never been very good at sharing.

“Are you okay?” Sander asked softly, fingers kneading at the muscles in Robbe’s arms, conscious of just how long he’d had them raised over his head.

Robbe sounded as though he was still trying to catch his breath. “Mm,” he hummed.

“Words, Robbe,” Sander urged softly. 

“I’m good,” Robbe looked at Sander properly, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. “Turns out I like that, then.”

Sander smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Robbe confirmed, wrapping his arms around Sander’s neck. “Worth the pins and needles.”

“I love you,” Sander breathed. “I love you so much, Robbe.”

“I love you too.”

“No, I - I really love you,” Sander said, desperate to try and find the right words to describe the feelings that were erupting in his chest. “Thank you, for trusting me. Not just with this, with sex, with - with everything. I feel really fucking lucky to have you trust me.”

Robbe bumped his nose against Sander’s, kissing him softly. “Of course I trust you,” he reassured, looking as though he was stuck for words himself. “I love you, Sander.”

Sander let Robbe’s words wash over him, for a second or two, before he sat up, brushing his own sweaty hair back off his forehead. “Come on,” he tugged at Robbe. “Let’s shower.”

“Logically, I want to say yes,” Robbe said, sounding thoughtful, sprawled across Sander’s bed, entirely comfortable in a space Sander hadn’t been sure he’d ever feel comfortable having someone else in - his room, as much as his art was, was an extension of his mind, of the muddled mess of good and bad that existed there, and Robbe, somehow, had made himself a home in the midst of all that mess and Sander wasn’t sure he could imagine even the darkest crevices of his mind without Robbe in them, now, Robbe lighting up every inch of his life. “But, my arms and legs feel like noodles and if you try and touch me again, I think I’ll probably die.”

Sander laughed, kissing the side of Robbe’s forehead, his skin salty and damp with sweat under Sander’s lips. “No touching - except the getting clean type,” he reassured. “But did say we’d meet Jens and the others for lunch and if you don’t shower now we’ll be really late.”

“Don’t care.”

Sander rolled his eyes, pulling Robbe up into a sitting position. “You do,” he countered. “And my mum will be back soon anyway, and there are certain compromising positions I don’t need her to find you - or me - in.”

“Ugh, fine,” Robbe relented, letting Sander pull him out of bed and across the hallway to the bathroom. Sander was generally always quite grateful he had a whole floor of the house to himself, but even more so now, when it meant he could bundle Robbe into the shower and keep him all to himself for just a little longer, without either of them having to force their gross, sweaty selves into clothes. 

So sue him, Sander liked sharing showers with his stupidly attractive boyfriend - especially when it was early morning, and all of Robbe’s walls were down, and he was so open and pliant and calm as he twisted with the shower controls, always liking the water a little hotter than Sander himself would choose - but, well, Sander found it hard to say no to Robbe.

“My arms are tired,” Robbe’s pretend pleading voice was just about audible over the roar of the shower, water thundering down on the two of them, heating Sander’s already warm skin, turning the pale skin of Robbe’s back, and shoulders, pink. 

“And?”

“Well, it’s your fault,” Robbe said, shrugging, as if it were entirely obvious. “So you have to wash my hair.”

“Oh, I do?” 

Robbe nodded, pressing himself into Sander’s arms. “Otherwise you’re a mean and terrible boyfriend.”

“Mean and terrible?” Sander raised an eyebrow. “Two orgasms later and I’m in the terrible one? I think you’ll find I’m self-sacrificing, and -”

“Shut up,” Robbe interrupted with a raised eyebrow and a pleading look on his face. “Come on. Please? See, I even said  _ please _ , you can’t say no if I’m being polite!”

“I wasn’t going to say no anyway,” Sander murmured, directing Robbe under the shower so he could get his boyfriend’s hair properly wet, brushing the slightly too-long strands out of Robbe’s eyes, pressing a wet kiss to the corner of Robbe’s mouth before he reached for the shampoo. “I just like hearing you  _ beg _ .”

Robbe opened his eyes, glaring at Sander incredulously. “ **No** .”

“No, what?”

“No joking about - about  _ that _ !” Robbe shook his head, his face turning a fascinating shade of red. Sander couldn’t help but find it sort of hilarious how shy, and embarrassed Robbe could get, it all such a stark difference to the way he was learning to let go when it was just the two of them, in bed, wanton and responsive. It was an odd juxtaposition, really. “Sander, I swear -”

“Okay, okay, I take it back,” Sander shook his head, keeping his comment about how endearing Robbe was when he was embarrassed to himself, squeezing out some shampoo. “Close your eyes before I blind you with shampoo, schatje.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Sander was always impressed by how good Robbe actually was at skating. He’d never really seen his boyfriend do it, all that often, but now they were settling into their relationship, and life was returning to normality - or a  _ new  _ normal, at least - Sander found himself being invited along to afternoons at the skate-park.

Sander had never skated before in his life - a bike was a good enough mode of transport for him, thank you very much - so he found himself sitting on the low wall by the river, with Aaron and Moyo, the three of them watching as Jens and Robbe did most of the actual skating.

“You want some?”

Sander tore his gaze away from Robbe and whatever trick he was trying to show Jens how to do to see Moyo offering him a joint. It was tempting, really - it was. Sander liked the familiarity of weed, the way it would sink right into his bones and make him feel relaxed, but, well, he was trying to a grown-up about his mental illness. 

“I’m good man, thanks,” Sander shook his head. “It fucks with my meds,” he admitted. He was - well, he was trying to be better, about all of this, and that meant limiting his weed intake. He’d had an interesting argument with his doctor about how he should just replace his antipsychotics with weed, which has resulted in a lot of glares and a stack of pamphlets for him to read, so - well, he was trying to be better about it all. 

Moyo gave an understanding nod, one Sander was curious enough to want to question, but smart enough to let go. He definitely didn’t know Moyo well enough to start prying into his personal life, and it wasn’t exactly his place either, was it?

“Do you take a lot of meds?”

“Aaron, man, shut the fuck up,” Moyo rolled his eyes as their friend asked a question from where he was lying on the wall next to Sander. “You can’t just ask people that kind of shit.”

“Why not?” Aaron looked sincerely confused.

That was kind of the worst part. 

“Because it’s private, man, fuck,” Moyo said. “You have the social skills of a rock sometimes, you know that? Actually, sometimes I think a rock would have better social skills than you do.”

Sander was surprised at Moyo’s passionate defence. “I - I don’t mind,” he admitted, despite the fact he did sort of mind, but part of his therapy and new approach to dealing with his mental health was being more honest about it. “It’s nothing crazy, they just help me not to be manic - or super depressed,” he shrugged. “Alcohol and drugs undo all of that.”

“Or melt all your brain-cells, like they clearly have done for you,” Moyo kicked at Aaron’s ankle. “How have you got a girlfriend, and I don’t?”

“Because you’re also an idiot,” Jens voice interrupted their conversation, him and Robbe rolling to a stop in front of the wall. 

“And you never tell us if you actually like someone or not,” Robbe added, leaning against Sander’s leg, Sander threading his fingers through Robbe’s curly hair, damp with sweat at his neck. Winter was slowly but surely turning to spring, and Robbe had abandoned his jacket next to Sander almost as soon as they arrived at the skate-park, wearing a dark grey jumper of Sander’s over his baggy jeans.

Robbe looked better than Sander did in Sander’s own clothes, sometimes, the jumper just big enough that it was sliding down Robbe’s shoulder, slightly, exposing the gold chain of the necklace he always wore. Sander really shouldn’t have been so turned on by a gold chain, but his stomach did a couple of unwelcome somersaults as he brushed his fingers against the cool metal of the gold chain, enjoying the slight shiver that went down Robbe’s spine at his actions.

“ _ Stop _ ,” Robbe mouthed at him, grin fixed in place on his face. 

“That’s true,” Jens agreed. “I’ve never seen you have an actual crush on anyone, Moyo.”

Moyo huffed. “That’s because you’ve already slept with every girl in our school, Jens.”

Jens slapped at Moyo’s knee, taking the blunt from him. “Not true, asshole,” he rolled his eyes, offering the weed to Robbe after he took a drag himself. “You want some, Robbe?”

Robbe shook his head, and Sander couldn’t help but be distracted by Robbe’s refusal as the conversation continued. 

“Robbe,” Sander said softly, tugging on Robbe’s hair so his boyfriend turned to look at him. “Are you not smoking because I’m not? Because I don’t mind if you do.”

Robbe shook his head, glancing over at his friends before he tugged on Sander’s hand, pulling him away from the group. “I’m not smoking because I don’t want to either,” he admitted, setting his skateboard down on the ground and toeing at the edge, wheels scratching against the concrete. 

“Why? I thought you liked to smoke.”

“I do,” Robbe said. “I just realised in the last few months I started to depend on it a lot. Like - I couldn’t sleep, or relax, or function without smoking, sometimes. And I don’t want to be that person, and I don’t want to depend on it, or whatever.”

Sander nodded slowly, pressing a thumb against the worried crease of Robbe’s forehead. “Do you still feel like you need to function?”

Robbe shrugged. “Yes and no,” he said. “Sometimes, it feels like there’s so much noise in my head that the only thing that’ll make it quiet in there is smoking. But…..”

“But?”   


“You make it quiet, too,” Robbe said, voice soft, and shy. “Okay?”

Sander couldn’t stop the smile that was tugging at his lips, nodding at Robbe’s words. “Okay,” he hummed, pulling Robbe in by the waist so he could hold him close, pressing a brief kiss to Robbe’s lips. “So are you going to teach me how to skate or what?”

“You want to learn how to skate?” Robbe raised an eyebrow.

Sander returned the raised eyebrow, offended at Robbe’s utter disbelief. “If you, the clumsiest person I know, can skate like you do, I bet I can do it too.”

Robbe held his hands up in surrender, pushing the skateboard toward Sander. “Okay,” he said. “Show me what you’ve got, then.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


(Turns out, what Sander had was no centre of gravity or balance - he ended the day with two very skinned elbows, a ripped knee of his jeans, and very little self respect. But it was worth it, Sander decided as Robbe dabbed at his blood knee with alcohol from his mother’s first aid kit, gently hushing Sander as he muttered a creative string of expletives at the stinging feeling. It was worth it to see Robbe laugh and smile like he had all afternoon, happy and carefree and as open and pilant as Sander knew him to be.)

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“It’s Moyo’s birthday next week.”

Sander looked up from the sketch he was doing on the back page of Robbe’s biology notebook as his boyfriend spoke, nodding. “That’s nice,” he said simply, knowing he and Robbe had a few differing opinions on Moyo - and well, he should probably buy into Robbe’s school of thought a little more, considering Robbe had known Moyo a whole lot longer than Sander, but Sander was good at holding a grudge, and he wasn’t that impressed with Moyo now Robbe had admitted the reaction his friend had really had when Robbe had come out.

So, sue him, Sander was protective - but how could he not be, when Robbe IJzermans, of all people on this Earth, was his boyfriend? Robbe was the kindest soul Sander thinks he might have ever met, with the most forgiving nature he’d ever come across, and Sander knew people took advantage of that.

He had, hadn’t he?

Robbe rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “You could sound slightly more excited,” he pointed out, picking at the remainder of his sandwich. It was a Wednesday, and Wednesday’s were Sander’s favourite days, because he would collect Robbe from school, and they’d have a date day - they’d go for lunch, or the cinema, or take advantage of an empty house for the afternoon. Whatever they did, they would end up spending most of Wednesday together, and Sander lived for those days.

Today, they’d come to a cafe to study together - and they were getting better at actually studying together.

Well, Robbe was, at least.

“I am!” Sander shook his head. “But you haven’t told me what we’re doing, so I don’t know how I could possibly be excited.”

Robbe inclined his head slightly, conceding Sander’s argument. “His mum is making us dinner - the four of us - and then there’s some like, warehouse party happening that Moyo is apparently getting to DJ at for ten minutes,” he explained. “Do you want to come? I know it’s not really your thing.”

“Robbe,” Sander reassured. “While trashy dance music may not be my thing, you definitely are, and I like your friends, so count me in.”

Robbe nodded slowly, brow furrowed in the most endearing expression Sander thinks he might have ever seen. When Robbe’s forehead would cross like that, wrinkles forming in his pale skin, a question would usually follow - one Robbe had been thinking about for a while, and was only just figuring out the words for.

They’d only been together for a couple of months, now, but Sander was slowly becoming an expert in reading Robbe’s micro-expressions.

“Yes?”

“When am I going to meet your friends?” Robbe inquired, nervousness written all over his face.

Sander swallowed thickly. “My friends,” he echoed, as if putting off the question was going to delay him having to answer it for more than a few seconds.

“Yeah.”

“I - I don’t have so many of those, actually,” Sander admitted, voice low. “Mostly because I - I’m repeating my final year of school, Robbe, so most of my friends are already in university.”

“You’re repeating?’

This hadn’t really been a conversation he’d intended to have in a cafe with Robbe, but they were having it now, he supposed.

“I was diagnosed with bipolar, about a year ago,” Sander began, twisting his pencil between his fingers. “You know that,” he continued, Robbe confirming with a nod. “But it happened during my final year of school, actually, and I had a pretty full-on breakdown. I’d always been an intense person, I think, and when I was on a high it was a serious high, and when things were bad, they were bad - but they don’t tend to diagnose you with bipolar when you’re my age, so it sort of just went unnoticed. They tried me on medication for ADHD, for a while, thinking it was that, but it wasn’t.”

Robbe’s hands were gentle, on Sander’s own, giving his wrists a squeeze as Sander tried to find the strength to finish his explanation.

“I tried to jump off a building,” Sander admitted, hating the shock that appeared on Robbe’s face. “Not because I wanted to die, or anything, but because I really thought I was like - untouchable, I guess. Looking back, it was obvious I was manic, but I didn’t know that then, no one did. My friends, they stopped me, but that’s when everyone realised something was seriously wrong.”

“That makes sense,” Robbe said softly. 

“I was hospitalised for a couple of weeks, and even when I got out, it never felt like it was getting better - they tried me on so many different medications to try and help, but you’ve got to give them a couple of months at a time to work, and so by time final exams came around, I was still in a pretty bad place,” Sander said. “So my parents thought it would be best if I repeated my final year, and gave myself a decent chance at getting into university, instead of failing out.”

“That must have been hard.”

“It was,” Sander admitted. “I was lonely for a long time. All my friends - they’ve moved away, and some live close, in Ghent, but others have gone much further away. My best friend, Sandrine, lives in Copenhagen now, and I haven’t been to visit yet.”

“Tell me about her,” Robbe encouraged, genuinely looking curious, now.

Sander couldn’t help but smile as he thought of his childhood best friend. “We used to pretend we were brother and sister, because our names were so similar, and that’s the kind of friends we are, I guess - she’s like an annoying older sister. She was the best when I was diagnosed, Robbe, really - she would come to the hospital every day after school, and just sit with me - because for a long time I didn’t even want to draw, anymore, I didn’t want to do anything.”

Those had been the hardest times, Sander remembered - the weeks where nothing had felt real, or worthwhile, when his art supplies had sat, unused, blank sketchbooks brought to the hospital by his mother, and father, sitting with nothing inside until finally, the world had slowly started to seem interesting to Sander again.

Sandrine had sat with him in silence, for most of the first couple of weeks - and then slowly, Sander had started to talk, started to drink a coffee with her, or be willing to walk down the hallways for ten minutes at a time.

She’d been a superhero.

“She sounds cool,” Robbe commented.

“She is,” Sander nodded. “When she’s back in Antwerp, I’ll make sure you meet her, okay? She - she and I used to laugh, about how everyone thought the two of us would end up marrying each other, one day, and she grew up to be gay and I guess - I sort of half did.”

Robbe laughed. “Half gay? That’s new.”

Sander shrugged. “I know everyone likes labels, and I see the value in them, you know? Don’t get me wrong. I know labels are important, but I felt like everyone always put me into boxes, my whole life - I was Sander, the new kid at school, Sander, the kid whose parents got divorced, Sander, the kid who is bipolar. I think - I sort of resisted labelling my sexuality for a long time because of that. I would joke, and say I just had a touch of gay, or that I didn’t need a label to know who I was.”

“And now?”

And now.

That was the question, wasn’t it?

“I like girls and boys,” Sander said simply. “You know that, Robbe, and I guess - I guess the label that probably fits best is pansexual.”

“Pansexual,’ Robbe sounded as if he was trying the word out for size. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Robbe nodded. “I get what you’re saying about labels, but I…..” he trailed off. “I’m not exactly a gold star gay, or whatever, but when I was figuring out who I was, who I liked, before Christmas, the label gay just made me feel so angry, and uncomfortable because I knew how much it fit, and at the time, I didn’t want to be put into a box, to be defined by an identity I didn’t want to have, but now - now, I think the label gives me comfort, because I’m still Robbe, but being gay is a big part of who I am, and I don’t have to hide that anymore, and I don’t want to, either. So, it’s part of my identity now.”

Sander felt pride bloom in his chest as he took in Robbe’s words, drinking in the results of the growth Robbe had been going through for months, now. 

“What?” Robbe looked embarrassed as Sander stared at him, completely unapologetic.

“I’m just so proud of you,” Sander shrugged. “You’ve grown up so much, since I first met you.”

Robbe flushed the most brilliant shade of pink Sander had ever seen, embarrassment rising high in his cheeks. “Shut up,” he shook his head, voice soft. 

“No, I mean it,” Sander said, reaching for Robbe’s hand, pressing a thumb into the palm of his boyfriends hand. “It’s been really cool for me to see.” 

Robbe gave him the sweetest smile, squeezing Sander’s fingers. “I didn’t realise your parents were divorced,” he said after a few moments of silence. “I’m sorry.”

“Honestly, I’m not,,” Sander said, enjoying the surprised look on his boyfriend’s face. “I’m one of the lucky ones, really - my parents are still great friends, they still call, and text. They just fell out of love, and it’s not like it ended badly, or they fought all the time, they just realised they would be better as friends.”

It was true.

Sander - he was luckier than most. He had parents who might have been divorced, yes, but the kind of parents who would still take them to the beach together for a week every summer together, new partners brought along for the strangest, but best, family holiday ever.

“You don’t talk about your dad.”

“I know,” Sander confirmed. “It kind of felt like it would be rubbing it in your face, if I were to talk about how well me and my dad get on, when everything was happening with your dad.”

Robbe’s expression was unreadable. “Thank you,” he said, a slight tremor to his voice. “But tell me about him now.”

Sander grinned. “Okay, well,” he kicked gently at Robbe’s foot under the table, unlinking their fingers for a second so he could take a sip of his coffee. “His name is Alexander - I’m named after him, actually. He’s not from Antwerp, he’s from the Netherlands - Utrecht, actually, it’s where he lives now again.”

“That’s far."

“Not really,” Sander shrugged. “It’s less than two hours by car, and he comes back to visit a lot. My grandmother got really sick, a couple of years ago, so he moved back to look after her, and then he met his new partner, Mila, my step-mum, and her kid is pretty young, so it didn’t make sense to move back.”

Sander couldn’t help but smile as he thought about his step-sister, Tess. She’d been barely two, when Sander had first met her, and so he’d always felt extraordinarily protective of the little girl. He’d been the youngest sibling growing up, so he’d never really understood why his own sisters had been so wildly protective of him, but he did now.

“Mila just had a baby, my brother Kees,” Sander said, thinking of the wide-eyed baby he’d met for the first time six months previously. “It’s why my dad hasn’t visited so much recently, he normally comes every other weekend, but it's hard, when Kees is so small.”

Robbe looked a little overwhelmed. “I feel like - I feel like there’s so much I don’t know about you, still,” he seemed a little more upset than Sander had expected him too, given Sander was just tracing the roots of his family tree back to his father.

“Robbe?” Sander nudged softly. “What’s wrong?”

“I just - I don’t want you to not tell me things because you think I’m going to break if you tell me,” Robbe admitted, rubbing roughly at his eyes. “I’m not a child, Sander.”

Robbe sounded almost angry, now.

“Hey, hey - Robbe, I know you’re not a child, and I’m not treating like one -”

“But you are!” Robbe interrupted. “You are, because you haven’t told me all these things about your life because you didn’t think I could handle knowing you have a good relationship with your dad. Fucking all of my friends have good dads, Sander, and I deal with it.”

“Robbe, come on.”

Robbe shook his head, eyes glassy with tears. “I expect this from everyone else in my life, Sander, but not you, okay? You have always treated me like I’m a person and not like I’m - I’m made of glass, and I’m sick of everyone thinking I’m just going to fall apart because of the tiniest thing. I’ve - I’ve dealt with a lot more than people give me credit for, okay?”

Sander couldn’t help but stand as Robbe packed his things, heart twisting in his chest. “Robbe, schatje, come on,” he tried to calm his boyfriend down, confused by how fast things had swung from good, to very, very bad. 

Robbe tugged his hand away from Sander’s grasp, shaking his head. “I want to be alone, Sander.”

Sander slumped in his seat, letting Robbe leave - he knew there was no talking to anyone when they were in the sort of mood Robbe was in, so it was best to let his boyfriend have a little cooling off time. He thought, at least - lately, Sander was realising there were a lot of things about Robbe he didn’t fully understand yet.

All hope of studying lost, Sander shoved his books in his bag, gathering up the mess of paper and pens on the table, huffing a breath as he made his way out of the busy cafe and into the street.

“Well,” Sander sighed, realising Robbe was long gone. “Fuck.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“You look stressed out.”

Sander looked up from his position upside down on the couch, blood rushing to his head as he righted himself, his sister hanging over the back of the sofa and giving him a quizzical look. “Lotte, why can’t life ever be simple?” he sighed, flopping back against the bright blue material of their sofa - one of their mother’s more extravagant purchases of late. 

Lotte rolled her eyes. “Life is complicated because you like to make it complicated, Sander,” she pointed out, moving so she was sitting on the couch next to Sander. “What is it this time?”

“First of all, you’re rude,” Sander said half-heartedly, knowing his sister was right. He had a bit of a tendency to be dramatic. “It’s Robbe.”

“If you two have broken up before dad even gets a chance to meet this boy you’ve been gushing about for months, Sander, I am not sure he will ever be okay again.”

Sander laughed. It was true - their father was excited to meet Robbe when Lotte’s birthday party finally came at the end of the month. “No, we haven’t broken up,” he shook his head. “We did have a fight, though - a pretty big one.”

“And your first fight, I assume, judging by that kicked puppy look you’ve got going on?” 

“Maybe.”

“What happened?”

“I…” Sander trailed off, trying to decide how best to broach the subject without telling his sister everything there was to know about Robbe and his relationship with his father. “Robbe and his father don’t get along,” he decided on simplicity. “And their relationship has only just gotten worse, since I’ve known him - not because of me, or anything, just generally.”

Lotte raised an eyebrow. “And this has something to do with you how, exactly?”

“Well, I sort of avoided mentioning dad up until today.”

“Sorry, what? You neglected to mention you had a father at all?”

“Maybe?”

“Sander, I say this with all the love in the world, but you’re the stupidest boy I have ever met.”

“Thanks, Lotte,” Sander rolled his eyes. “I just - I felt like it would have been rubbing it in, you know? Like, hey Robbe, sorry to hear you’ve had another screaming match with your father - mine? Oh, well, my father has just booked us all a holiday in the summer and we all get along so well my mum and step-mum will be there, but your step-mum sounds like she doesn’t even want you in her house.”

A sad expression flashed across Lotte’s face. “Is it that bad?”

Sander nodded. “I’m not - it’s not my place to say,” he said, Lotte nodding her agreement. “But it’s bad, Lotte, and I just felt guilty about how good things are for me, and how much he has to deal with.”

“Are you including yourself in what he has to deal with?” Lotte asked knowingly.

Sander was quiet, for a second.

Was he?

Well - of course he was.

“Yes.”

“Sander,” Lotte sighed. “Can I let you in on a secret?”

Sander nodded.

“If you are going to spend your life thinking you are a burden to the people who love you, you’re never going to have a happy life,” Lotte said. “No one - not even Robbe, I imagine - is a perfectly simple person, someone who is easy to deal with. The point of being human is that we’re all complex, and that complexity doesn’t make us a burden.”

“It’s not that I’m complex, Lotte, it’s that I’m mentally ill.” 

“And does that somehow make you less human?” 

“I guess not.”

Lotte rolled her eyes. “ _ I guess not _ , you really are an idiot, Sander,” she sighed. “You are not a burden, not to us, or Robbe, and whatever you may think of your bipolar, you don’t have to spend your life trying to make everyone’s life easier so you somehow feel justified in having them help you when things aren’t good for you, because you’re good the rest of the time.”

“Lotte, mum pays a very over-qualified therapist to tell me these things, not you,” Sander pointed out. 

“All I am saying is that the best relationships are ones where you share the good, and the bad,” Lotte said. “And that means you share the good of your life, all of it, as well as the bad, with Robbe. Do you not maybe think it would feel like a reprieve from his own father to meet yours, and realise what a nice guy he is? To know that not every father in the world is like his own?”

Sander loved his sisters - but mostly, he hated them for always being right. 

“He’s just so young, Lotte,” Sander sighed. “And he’s had to deal with so much already, and I don’t want to be the reason he feels like - sad, or whatever.”

Lotte gave him a sympathetic smile. “We want to protect the people we love from things that might hurt them, Sander, it’s true,” she reached out, fixing Sander’s messy fringe, pushing it back off his forehead. “But in doing that, you can make someone feel as though you don’t trust them to be able to deal with it. You know?”

“That’s what Robbe said I was doing,” Sander sighed, slumping further into the sofa cushions. 

“Relationships can feel as though they’re frighteningly complex,” Lotte shrugged. “But they’re really not. You just have to trust the person you’re dating is able to handle whatever life throws at them. And, if they’re not, then - you just be there for them. But starting out your relationship with Robbe by keeping things from him, whatever those things are, isn’t going to work out in your favour, dropje.”

Sander couldn’t stop the heavy sigh he let out at Lotte’s words. “Yeah, I know.”

“There’s a story there,” Lotte said pointedly.

“I didn’t tell him that I was bipolar, when we first started dating,” Sander admitted. “The manic episode I had in December, that was the night he found out. I know how bad it is to keep things from him, and - yet I have,  _ again _ ,” he sighed.

“Sometimes the best thing you can do is apologise,” Lotte said. “That’s worth a lot more than arguing your way out of a fuck up.”

Sander gave his sister a sympathetic smile. “Nothing new from Ruben, then?”

“Ah-ah, we’re talking about your relationship problems, not mine,” Lotte shoved at his face. “Go and apologise to your boyfriend so you’re back to being sickeningly in love by time my party rolls around.”

Sander stuck his tongue out at her, easing himself off the couch. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Lotte echoed. “I’ll tell mum where you are.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The wind that whipped up as Sander crossed the skatepark, Robbe sitting on the low sea wall, looking as though he was freezing cold, March not quite turning warm, yet, the cold air rushing in from the sea a reminder that summer hadn’t quite come yet, despite the sunny afternoons they had been blessed with lately.

“Hi,” Sander greeted softly, trying to gauge Robbe’s mood. His boyfriend hadn’t argued when Sander had asked if they could meet up, simply telling Sander that he was at the skatepark - but, well, Sander hadn’t known Robbe long enough to be able to judge his moods so easily.

“Hi,” Robbe echoed, shifting uncomfortably. 

“How was your day?” Sander asked, setting his bag down on the wall before he jumped up beside Robbe, the concrete they were sitting on cool underneath the rough denim of his jeans. 

“It was okay,” Robbe shrugged, scuffing his sneaker against the wall. “I missed you,” he admitted with a small sigh, shaking his head. “I know it was only a day, and I feel like an idiot, but I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Sander offered. “It doesn’t mean you’re an idiot, Robbe.”

“I’m just used to calling and texting you all the time, even when I don’t see you,” Robbe said, sounding thoughtful. 

Every part of Sander itched to reach out and touch Robbe, hold him close and reassure him of just how much Sander had also missed their silly text conversations, and late night phone-calls - but that was probably crossing a boundary they shouldn’t cross without an actual conversation, first.

“I’m sorry, for reacting the way I did,” Robbe said after a moment of silence. 

“Don’t apologise for how you feel, Robbe.”

“I’m not,” Robbe admitted, corners of his mouth turning upward in the hint of a smile. “I’m just apologising for how I expressed those feelings, I guess. I was talking to Milan about it - sorry, I hope that’s okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? I talked to my sister,” Sander shook his head. “I can’t be the only person you ever talk to, Robbe.”

Robbe nodded, looking a little relieved as he continued. “MIlan, he pointed out that even if I felt what you did was wrong, that I should have listened, and explained my feelings to you,” he said. “I guess - I guess I’m just still very new to being in a relationship, and I’m definitely used to shouting instead of talking through how I feel. And I don’t want that to be what our relationship is like, so I’m sorry.”

Sander couldn’t help but reach out and squeeze Robbe’s hand tightly. “Thank you,” he murmured. “And I get it, you know, it’s really hard to want to talk about how you feel, and it can be really hard to find the right words to express those feelings - I’ve just had years of therapy that make it a little easier,” he joked. “But only a little.”

Robbe didn’t say anything.

“I want to apologise too,” Sander said. “But tell me how you feel, Robbe - properly, this time, and I’ll listen, and I won’t interrupt, and I’ll do my best to understand. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Robbe was quiet for a few minutes. “Everyone always assumes I can’t handle things,” he began. “And I think it's because I’m the youngest, and everyone just assumes that means I can’t deal with big, scary things - or little things, I guess. And I know I made it worse because for a long time, even the smallest of things would make me so angry, but it wasn’t because any of those things really pissed me off, it was always because I was carrying around all this guilt and disgust because of who I was, and the more determined I was to never accept being gay, the worse it got, because I had no one to talk to about how I really felt, and nowhere to direct all that anger other than at stupid shit, like Moyo forgetting to hit record when we were filming, or Jens ditching me to go to see a movie with Jens.”

Sander nodded slowly, hoping his silence conveyed understanding - he had promised not to interrupt, after all. 

“The truth is, I’ve had to handle a lot,” Robbe said, voice shaky. “And you know some of it, but not all of it, Sander. But you know enough that I thought you, of all people, would never try and hide things from me because you think I can’t handle knowing them - and that’s what made me so mad.”

“Thank you, for explaining,” Sander said, waiting for a few beats to make sure Robbe was really finished explaining himself. “I’m sorry, for making you feel like I think you can’t handle knowing things. I’m really sorry, Robbe - it was never my intention, but I know intentions don’t really matter if you still hurt someone, in the process.”

Robbe gave him a grateful smile. 

“I just - I so badly want to protect you, Robbe, because I hurt you before and I don’t want to ever be the cause of your pain again,” Sander admitted, tears welling up behind his eyes. “I never knew I could love someone so much that I wanted to just - protect you from the entire world.”

Robbe pressed a kiss to Sander’s shoulder, layers of clothing making it so Sander couldn’t feel the now-familiar warmth of Robbe’s lips against his skin. “You don’t need to protect me from the world, Sander,” he said. “But if it helps, I do feel safe with you.”

Sander didn’t want to say it, but the words were out of his mouth before he could even stop himself. “How could you feel safe with me?” 

Robbe’s eyes were wide. “Sander,” he said, in that quiet, thoughtful way he did sometimes, Sander’s name sounding like a prayer as it fell from Sander’s lips. “How could I not feel safe with you? From the first time I met you, I felt safe with you - you were exciting and mysterious, sure, but something about you just always made me feel safe. Like - like I knew you would take care of me.”

Sander didn’t really know what to say.

“Sander, hey, look at me,” Robbe turned Sander’s face toward him, cold fingers keeping a tight grip on Sander’s chin. “You are not less safe to love because you’re bipolar. Okay? You’re not. Please don’t ever think that, because it’s not true.”

Sander really felt like he could cry, now, Robbe’s love so quiet and unassuming and absolutely overwhelming, the kind of love Sander had been convinced, only a few months previously, that he would never be entitled to have. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Making this all about me when I wanted to meet so I could apologise to you,” Sander explained. “I know you can handle things, Robbe. Not telling you about my dad was a stupid mistake, and I promise you, it’s one I won’t make again.”

Robbe nodded, a grateful smile fixed in place on his face. “Thank you - for apologising,” he said. “But you and I don’t need to sit here and pretend as though we’re not going to make mistakes because we will. But it’s okay.”

Sander returned Robbe’s smile, albeit weakly. “I just wish it could always be good,” he admitted, eyes unexpectedly welling up with tears. “I want to see you smile every day for the rest of my life, Robbe.”

Robbe shifted a little closer, close enough that Sander could see the tears wetting Robbe’s own eyelashes, turning them darker than usual. “I won’t smile every day,” he shook his head. “But that’s normal, Sander. We’ll fight, and we’ll have bad days, and things won’t always be good. But do you know what we’ll do when we are having a bad day?” he inquired.

Sander shook his head. “What will we do?”

Robbe grinned, pressing a kiss to the corner of Sander’s mouth, sneaking his hands under Sander’s jacket, arms wrapped tightly around Sander’s waist. “We’ll hide,” he said, enjoying the way Sander couldn’t help but laugh along with him, the rest of the world feeling like it was fading away into background music, the two of them the only people left in Antwerp, in Belgium, in the whole wide world.

“We’ll hide?” Sander questioned.

“Mhm,” Robbe nodded. “We’ll hide out here, in my room, in yours - just you and me - and we’ll take it minute, by minute,” he said, the words familiar and not at all at the same time, somehow, the game Robbe had asked they play all those months ago popping back up in their lives, in their relationship, right when Sander needed the reminder of how willing Robbe was to just take life with Sander as it comes. 

Sander knew he should feel reassured, but he couldn’t stop the panic rising in his chest at Robbe’s words. “You’re not – you’re not bipolar, Robbe,” he said, struggling to find the right words. “It’s an  _ ugly _ thing,” he practically spat the words out. Sander, he’d already spent weeks, and months - years, even - telling himself just how ugly it was, how his mental illness tarnished every single part of him, everything good and bad and in between tinged with blackness, the direct result of the illness he’d been unlucky enough to be branded with for life.

“You know what else is ugly?” Robbe quirked an eyebrow. “My relationship with my father. I’ll shout, and scream at him, and tell him just how much I hate him, and you’ll have to sit there, and listen to it, and wonder why I feel that way at all, because everyone thinks my dad is kind, and caring, and they can never understand why he makes me so angry.”

“Robbe- “ Sander tried to interrupt.

This wasn’t about Robbe, or his father, or anything else, it was about him, and how completely fucked up he was -

“I’ll have days where I just don’t want to talk,” Robbe continued, determined now. “I’ll put my headphones on and ignore you for days, and it’ll make you so  _ mad _ , Sander, and I’ll know that, but I’ll still do it, because – because the world gets too loud, for me, and no matter how much I love you, you’re still part of that noise.”

Sander’s face had softened slightly, concern creasing his forehead where there had been annoyance.

“I’m not an expert on the topic,” Robbe said, grinning slightly, fingers tightly knotted in the material of Sander’s jumper “But I’ve heard relationships take work.”

“You won’t always like me,” Sander tried, after a few moments of silence, the sound of the sea lapping against the concrete just barely infiltrating their cocoon of silence.

“And you won’t always like me,” Robbe countered, brushing his nose against Sanders. “But I’ll always love you.”

Sander looked almost nervous, as he let Robbe’s words wash over him, as he let the meaning sink in. “Always is a big word.”

“ _ Always _ ,” Robbe said fiercely. “I will always love you Sander – no matter what.”

Sander looked as overwhelmed, there and then, as Robbe had always felt in the early days of their relationship. “In this moment,” he said, voice rather shaky as he looked carefully at Robbe. “Can you kiss me?”

Robbe smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Sander’s lips, the kind of kiss Sander always felt right down to his toes. “I’m happy to kiss you in every moment, Sander.”

(And if they stayed there, kissing until their hands and feet and lips were completely numb, well, then - it was no ones business except theirs.)

  
  
  
  


Love, Sander decided, was a funny thing.

He’d spent so long convincing himself he wasn’t worthy, or deserving of love, and then all of a sudden, Robbe had appeared in his life, and turned all those beliefs upside down. It was something he was talking through a lot in therapy, that month - about whether or not Sander was deserving of love.

Everyone was deserving of love, his therapist had pointed out at their latest session. 

_ “Even people who do bad things _ ?” Sander had found himself asking.

_ “Are you a bad person because you’ve done bad things?” _ had been the response, and one left lingering in Sander’s head for days, now.

Sander wasn’t a perfect person, by any stretch of the imagination - he’d cheated on Britt, he’d hurt her, he’d never been a good boyfriend, he wasn’t the best brother, sometimes - but that didn’t mean he didn’t deserve to be happy.

He wasn’t entirely convinced of that yet, but on days like today, when he was surrounded by love, love Sander sometimes forgot he had in his life, when he was the midst of a manic episode, or in the depths of a depressive one, the kind of thoughts he normally tried to push to the back of his mind swirling round and round his head like the only thing he was ever entitled to be was on the brink of fucking up his whole life - well, on days like today it was hard to pretend he was anything but lucky.

“So.”

Sander looked up to see Clara standing next to him, a soft smile on her face. “So,” he echoed.

“You have a boyfriend now then?” 

“I do,” Sander laughed, enjoying the way his sister echoed his laughter. “Why, are you offended you’re not the only practising gay in the family now?”

Clara shoved at him, rolling her eyes. “I just wondered why you hadn’t told me about him, is all,” she admitted. 

Sander swallowed. “I guess - I guess lately, I’ve forgotten how to talk to you like we used to, lately,” he admitted.

Clara’s face softened. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice soft. “I know that’s my fault.”

“It’s not.”

“No, it is,” Clara shook her head. “You’re my little brother, Sander, and I should have been there for you more when you were diagnosed, but I made it all about me, and how I was feeling - and I’m sorry, for that.”

Sander gave his sister a grateful smile. “S’okay,” he said softly. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”

“Always,” Clara nudged. “And very curious to meet this boyfriend of yours,” she said, voice pointed.

As if on cue, Robbe entered the room, dressed in an outfit Sander made a mental note to thank Milan for, a dark blue button down over a new-ish looking pair of jeans, Robbe having clearly gotten a haircut in the day since Sander had last seen him, hair quiffed at the front. 

“Here he is,” Sander grinned, Robbe weaving through the crowd of Lotte’s friends, and their family to join them.

“Hi,” Robbe greeted, a nervous lilt to his voice.

“Hi, schatje,” Sander returned the smile, pressing a kiss to Robbe’s cheek. “You look good.”

Robbe flushed. “Thanks,” he said. “Milan and Zoë made me go shopping with them. Apparently my normal clothes aren’t good enough for meeting your entire family,” he explained.

“Speaking of family,” Sander turned Robbe to face Clara. “This is my oldest sister, Clara.”

“Oldest sister,” Clara rolled her eyes, flicking at Sander’s forehead. “How rude!”

“But true,” Sander grinned, keeping a grip on Robbe’s shoulders. “Clara, this is Robbe - my boyfriend.” Introducing Robbe as his boyfriend was never going to get old, Sander decided, not when Robbe still, even now, months later, gave a sort of full body shiver at the word boyfriend, a pink flush high in his cheeks.

Before Clara could say anything, an excited greeting from Lotte interrupted their conversation.

“Robbe, you came!” Lotte beamed, pressing a kiss to Robbe’s cheek. 

“Happy Birthday,” Robbe instantly looked more relaxed, familiar enough with Lotte to not feel out of place, Sander supposed. “I - uh - got you something,” he said, holding up a pink gift bag. “I had help picking it out, don’t worry.”

“You’re so kind, Robbe,” Lotte beamed. “Sander, dad has just arrived!”

Sander couldn’t help but be excited as Lotte spoke, tugging at Robbe’s sleeve. “Come, you have to meet him,” he said, realising just how overwhelmed Robbe must be, there and then, the room full to the brim with people he’d never met. 

Still, Robbe allowed himself to be led across the room, holding tightly to Sander’s hand.

Sander supposed, in hindsight, it was obvious who his father was, given that Sander looked like his double, but he still felt the need to point it out, Alexander Driesen towering over even Sander, making Robbe look even shorter than usual.

“Dad!” Sander grinned, Alexander turning around to face them. 

“Sander,” his father beamed, scooping Sander into a bone-crushing hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much. Are you getting taller? I’m sure you’re still growing.”

“I missed you too, dad,” Sander laughed, pulling back from their hug. “Dad, I wanted to introduce you to someone,” he said, reaching behind him for Robbe, who was visibly nervous, now - more nervous than he had even been meeting Sander’s mum.

Alexander smiled that same, familiar warm smile that had always made Sander feel like he was the safest kid in the world, and he gave Sander an expectant look. “Well, introduce us properly, then.”

“Dad, this is my boyfriend, Robbe,” Sander introduced, pushing Robbe in front of him. “Robbe, this is my dad - Alexander.”

“Call me Alex,” Alexander said, giving a surprised Robbe a bone-crushing hug of his own. “Welcome to the family, Robbe.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


“I think your boyfriend might be a little overwhelmed.”

Sander looked up to see his dad standing next to him, drink in hand. “What, really? Where is he?”

“Out on the balcony,” Alexander said. “He seems like he’s good for you.”

“He is,” Sander couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Robbe, the kind, good-hearted boy he’d been so lucky to fall in love with. “He’s the best, papa.”

“It sounds like there’s more to your sentence than you’re telling me, Sander.”

Sander hated how easily his father could read his moods, sometimes. “I just….. How can I give him the best when I’m not the best person in the world to be with?” he asked, messing with the paper straw in his drink.

“Sander,” Alexander shook his head. “You are a wonderful person - you’re kind, and talented, and you’ve got a lot of love to give. And I think Robbe probably doesn’t need much more than that from you - to be loved.”

“And when life gets hard? When I get hard to love?”

“We’re all hard to love in different ways, Sander,” Alexander shook his head. “That doesn’t mean we’re not worthy of love. This world, this life we all live, it’s full of pain, and hurt, and so often it’s full of tragedy, and so it makes love the most important thing we have. Do you know why your mother and I stayed so close, even after we got divorced?”

“For us? Me and Clara and Lotte, I mean.”

“Yes,” Alexander agreed. “But it was more than that, too. You know as well as I do your mamma had a hard life, growing up - her parents weren’t kind, and they certainly weren’t full of love, and so the most important thing in the world for me was to keep loving your mother, even just as a friend, because life is much too short to not be full of love.” 

Sander glanced towards the balcony. “Not everyone’s parents are like that, dad.”

“No,” Alexander sighed, nodding in agreement. “But family comes in different shapes, Sander, and no family is less worthy than another simply because it isn’t a mother, a father, and some children. Sometimes family can be lots of different people who share different kinds of love who just want to make this hard world we live in a better place.”

Sander nodded, letting his father’s words wash over him. “Robbe makes my world a better place.”

Alexander smiled. “Then you should tell him that as often as the thought comes into your mind, Sander,” he encouraged. “Life is too short to not make the people you love, feel as loved as you possibly can.”

“Thanks, dad.”

“What are dads for?” Alexander beamed, pressing a kiss to the top of Sander’s head. “Go, check if he’s okay. We won’t be cutting the cake for another little while.”

Sander nodded, weaving his way through the dancing crowd and out onto the balcony of the bar, Robbe leaning against the railing, half-drunk beer in hand. 

“All alone out here?” Sander called.

Robbe turned around, the wind having messed with his perfectly styled hair, making him look much more like himself than he had at the beginning of the evening. “I was waiting for someone,” he said, teasing. “Have you seen your sisters anywhere? They’re much more fun than you.”

“Rude,” Sander said, half-heartedly pretending to be offended as he pulled Robbe in close, hooking his arms around Robbe’s waist, Robbe moving as if on auto-pilot to snake his arms around Sander’s neck. “Are you having fun?” he asked, nudging his nose against Robbe’s. 

Robbe nodded. “Lots,” he said. “Your family is amazing, Sander.”

Sander glanced back toward the bar, spotting his mum and step-mother chatting, Kees propped up on his mum’s hip, Clara and Lotte pulling faces at Sander through the glass. He really, really was one of the lucky ones. “They are,” he said. “And they’re your family, too, you know. If you want them to be.”

Robbe gave him an overwhelmed sort of smile. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Robbe confirmed. “Do you think Lotte’s boyfriend will come, in the end?” 

Sander shrugged slightly, knowing things between Lotte and Ruben were much more complicated than probably any of them realised. “I don’t know - I hope,” he admitted, his father’s words swirling around in his mind. “Life's too short not to fill it with love.”

Robbe smiled, moving a little closer, his cheek pressed against Sanders. “Life is much nicer when it’s full of love,” he said quietly, not protesting when Sander started to sway, the two of them moving completely out of time to the catchy pop song that was playing inside the bar. 

Sander held Robbe a little tighter, close enough that he could count every breath of Robbe’s, feel the beat of his heart against Sander’s own. “Yeah,” he sighed softly, happily. “Life is much nicer when it’s with you.”

  
  


(March - March had felt a lot like a month of growth, Sander and Robbe growing into their relationship in a way that felt like it was being given more and more strength and purpose, and Sander was grateful for it all, good and bad.)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can only apologise for how long this has taken! its been a crazy few weeks for me, work-wise, and fic had to take the back seat - but i hope the mammoth length makes up for the wait.


End file.
